


Any Way Out

by missema



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crime Fighting, Dragon Age Kink Meme, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Falling In Love, Kirkwall (Dragon Age), Misunderstandings, Nobility, Oral Sex, Rebuilding, Starkhaven, Viscount(ess) Hawke, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-06-10 09:15:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 46,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15288354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missema/pseuds/missema
Summary: For this prompt on the meme:What if Sebastian's family were never killed, and he's still a playboy embaressing his noble family. Sebastian is fed up of being stuck in the Chantry. He wants to be back home living his rightful life as a prince with all it's perks. But he can't go back until he proves he's a changed man and settles down. That means being a goody-two-shoes in the chantry and pretending his womanising days are over, and finding a respectable woman to marry. He thinks he's found the perfect candidate in Viscountess Hawke. She's from the noble Amell family. She's beautiful, intelligent and devout, and well loved in Kirkwall. Sebastian is confident with woman and knows how to charm and bed them like a master, but Hawke is unlike any woman he's met, what's more she doesn't buy the chaste chantry act for a moment and really doesn't appreciate him using her as a pawn and makes that *painfully* clear. That of course only leads to him falling in love with her for real, and a massive headache in trying to convince her this isn't another act.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original prompt/fill here:  
> https://dragonage-kink.dreamwidth.org/85776.html?thread=363761680

It was another sunny, fine day in Kirkwall, spring where the breeze was light and the day just warm enough to appreciate without humidity. His punishment was being stuck inside on such a fine day, almost as if the Grand Cleric knew that when he'd rather be doing garden work in the sunshine instead of scrubbing pots in the basement kitchen, so she picked the basement in her great wisdom. By the time he was done, it would be the evening chant. Sebastian Vael was stuck inside the Kirkwall Chantry, where he'd been living for years as an affirmed lay brother, refusing to take the vows that would make him a full brother.

He didn't want to be a damned brother in the Chantry, he wanted to go home to Starkhaven, be a prince and live the life he was born to have.

That however, was going to be a problem. He couldn't go home unless he'd proved that he'd changed, and according to the last letter from his father, that included becoming a full brother in the Chantry or some other onerous way of exhibiting some heretofore never shown level of maturity and temperance in the eyes of his parents. Being a brother would mean that going home would be useless -- he would have lost his status of prince -- and he'd be a pauper no matter where he went. A vow of poverty and renunciation of all his worldly goods and titles would put an end to any sort of life he'd want to live. 

He scrubbed absently at the pot letting his thoughts wander. Kirkwall was in a fine mess, with no Viscount and the mages and templars near tearing each other apart. He might be able to convince his parents to let him come home because of the dangers. That could be valid. He would have to write another letter tonight, to see if he could work that angle.

It was very dangerous here. Hadn't that woman, the Champion, just come in the other day and urged the Grand Cleric to consider leaving? He should have paid closer attention. She was always trying to fix this wretched mess of a city, and even tried to reason with the Grand Cleric. Sebastian snorted as he coaxed overcooked scum from where it was burnt into the pot. He should have told her not to bother. Elthina, as penitent and mild as she tried to be, was stubborn and mulish when it came to changing her mind. She would no more change her mind about leaving than she had about letting Sebastian leave after the third time he was caught alone with an initiate. 

He'd been put into a solitary cell for a week afterwards. The worst part was now that they knew Elthina was watching him, no one dared offer him any more comforts, no sweet kisses in the stairwell or scandalous midnight visits to his cell. So he was stuck here, in the Kirkwall Chantry, trying to find a way out after nearly a decade of imprisonment. Most people would have given up, he knew, but Sebastian wasn't most people. He was going to appeal to the practical side of his father this time, and hopefully get an answer that would take him out of Kirkwall. It was much too dangerous here, he thought to himself as a pot slipped from his hand and splashed filthy water all down the front of his shirt.

#

One month later

It was getting too warm on the Wounded Coast for it to be comfortable, but Hawke had business there. Maker help her, she felt like she was going to die there today, with nothing but sand flies and strangely arid sea air drying out her skin. She'd always heard that the beach was pleasant, but she doubted bathers came to this wretched coast for fun. If any had, she'd probably stumbled over their remains already.

This is what she got for taking a job from the Chanter's Board.

It was evening when she made it back to Kirkwall, and Hawke stomped through Hightown like an angry high dragon. No one was fool enough to try to stop her in her present mood, and she'd let her friends go their own way at the city gates. She'd tipped from annoyed to outright disgruntled as the day went on. Every little mosquito bite and bruise bothered her, there was sand in her boots and her favorite dagger was in need of repair after she accidentally stabbed a rock instead of the revenant they'd been fighting. To top it all off, she had to go into the Chantry to get her coin, because the Chanter wasn't outside.

She tried to rein in her temper, to remember the teachings of Andraste. A breath in through the nose, and out through the mouth, repeat again and again. She stood in the cool, dark entryway to the Chantry, listening to the end of the vespers sermon. She always liked the Chantry, though she had little time to attend these days. There was always something, someone, that needed her help here. In Ferelden, things hadn't been like this for her, but she would never trade one for the other.

"Are you lost, Champion?" a voice asked, and she looked up to see a Chantry brother. She almost recognized him, but not really. The faint flicker of memory had to come from his voice, that accent was from further inland Free Marches, but if she'd ever known his name, it escaped her now.

"No, Brother. I was just listening, but I suppose it must have looked like I was indecisive. I was actually looking for the Chanter. I completed the posting on the board, but there was no one out there."

"Let me fetch her for you, my lady."

"Thank you," she said, and leaned back against the wall. She closed her eyes and listened the soothing cadence of the Chant, letting it wash over her as the services ended. The familiar smells of wax and incense mingled in the air, and lent her some measure of peace. Tomorrow, if she was well enough, she'd come to light the incense for her parents and brother, and pray for their souls.

"She gave me this purse for you. May I accompany you home, Champion? I'd hate for you to do a good deed only to see you challenged for the spoils in the dark," he said.

"It's not yet full dark, and I live nearby," she pointed out, but he insisted. She was tired enough that she let him.

"You're not armed," Hawke said.

"Not visibly," he said and opened the doors as she huffed out a small laugh. It felt like the first time she'd even smiled all day.

"I don't know your name, Brother," she said as they stepped out into the evening sunset, the heavy golden doors of the Chantry closing behind them.

"Sebastian Vael, at your service," he said and gave her a deep bow. His courtiers manners and surname made something click in her mind, and she suddenly knew him, even if they hadn't met before.

"You're a long way from Starkhaven," Hawke said, and started down the steps. "Don't you want to go home?"

"You have no idea, my lady," he answered, catching up to walk at her side.

#

Brother Sebastian was an archer, and a damn good one at that. Hawke found that out one day when she had to go to the Chantry yet again, and saw him out in the yard practicing. He was quick, faster than she could really process and accurate too, though his target wasn't moving. Still, he could be of use to her. She didn't really know him, just had that one walk through Hightown with him when he'd flirted with her. She wasn't oblivious to his teasing and he was very handsome, but it was the careless way he did it that made her unresponsive.

He wasn't actually flirting with her, he was just a flirt. The type of person that flirted with everyone, just to see if he would get a response. If she had been just a smidgen lonelier, she might have been flattered, but as it was, she just filed it away as part of his personality. Isabela was also a flirt, but more overt than Sebastian, and it didn't bother her, most of the time.

But Sebastian happened to be what she needed at that moment, which was an archer. Varric was unavailable due to his commitments with the Merchant's Guild, and they'd finally cornered him. Merrill and Fenris trailed behind her, Fenris glaring at Merrill and Merrill pretending not to see it. She was merely stopping in the Chantry before going on to take care of her business, but when she saw Sebastian practicing, she paused.

"Hi, Brother Sebastian," she called out. "You interested in getting out of the Chantry tonight for a little exercise?" That opening wouldn't have worked on many people, but he turned to face her with a surprised smile.

"Lady Champion, I'm afraid you're going to need to be more discreet than that for our affair to take off," he said, and Hawke restrained herself from rolling her eyes, but only just.

"Darn, and I had so hoped. Oh well, would you like to kill things instead of meeting for a tryst?"

"I don't see why we can't do both."

"Evil is pretty grimy, and word is there's a lot of it. Probably best to just focus on that. I need an archer, but the job has conditions. Are you in or out?" she asked, not bothering to explain.

She watched his eyes darken as he calculated, and those same eyes swept over her, up and down, with no attempt to be subtle in his appraisal. She has expected him to be more inconspicuous, but he didn't even try. Maybe he was giving her a taste of her own medicine; she had been direct about what she wanted from him, but Hawke didn't need subtlety to go chasing demons, she was the goddamned Champion. Fighting was what she did. What she needed someone that would trust her enough not to turn in any of her mage friends, and though a Chantry brother wasn't her first choice, he could be a good fit for this job. If she could trust him. How could she put her life, and the lives of her friends in his hands if he was too curious or too cautious?

A slow smile spread across Sebastian's face as he nodded at her. "I'm in."

"Good." She made sure the addition, 'don't screw this up', came through without her actually having to say it.


	2. Chapter 2

If she hadn't been the Champion, her invitation to go to the docks at night would have made him think that she just wanted him alone, but he was sure this offer was legitimate. He was more than sure after he'd fought off three abominations and watched her slice through five more on her own.

Sebastian understood now why she'd been so cagey at the Chantry earlier. One of her friends was a mage, an apostate, but Sebastian was no templar. It wasn't his business if she needed a mage watching her back. Honestly, he was damn glad they had one. Mages needed to use their talents, to fight and help keep order, even if the little elven woman sending ice flying in his general direction had scared him witless when it happened during the fight. At least her aim was good.

More than anything else, the night had been exhilarating. Not as good as it would have been if he'd spent the night in her bed, making her moan his name, but still one of his better nights. He made sure to tell her so.

"You can call on me again, Champion, if you need my bow. I'd be happy," he bowed as he finished, "to oblige."

Sebastian glanced up at her just in time to see Hawke roll her eyes. "Sure thing. Thanks for the help. Listen, with Varric unavailable, I might need you again soon."

"Just send word to the Chantry," he told her, and almost thought she'd take him up on it.

When he got back the letter from his father was waiting in his cell, on top of the cot where he slept. The letter started out, "You cannot leave Kirkwall, help shape it, despite the dangers." and only grew worse from there on. "You've squandered too many chances, but my benevolence gets the best of me. If you do not wish to remain in the Chantry, take a suitable bride and settle down, and prove you can be the head of a house. Only then will I see fit to restore your titles and allowance in full. Otherwise, become a brother and give up any other ambitions. You have a year to decide."

A year to either find a bride or he'd have to dedicate himself to the Chantry. Marriage had not been on his mind when he'd written to his father, only the chance to leave the Chantry. Andraste preserve him, Kirkwall was not the land of eligible brides. There was always one of the usual women he avoided on the few times he did go out into society, the de Launcet daughters, the middle Reinhardt girl, a couple others who threw him longing looks and somehow grated on him. No, none of them would do. He couldn't imagine spending more than an afternoon with any of them, let alone trying to sire a child.

But there was the Champion, Hawke. She was noble, even if she did the jobs on the Chanter's Board. When he'd walked with her she was pleasant, hadn't nattered at him or asked too many questions, though she had been tired and eager to get home. Still, she was more than pretty and seemed relatively intelligent. And she kept the worst kind of company in his father's eyes, the interesting kind. Sebastian himself was a little appalled that he would even consider a woman that slaughtered her way through mercenaries and bandits for a living, but it was Hawke.

She had felled the Arishok. He'd seen the battle himself, and Maker, he wished he hadn't, he'd been that scared for her, that certain she was going to die. That was worthy of more respect than scorn in the eyes of just about everyone, and so it would be for his father. Could he call on her again? He'd only walked her home that night to get out of the Chantry, not out of any real sense of protection or desire to be near her.

If he was being honest with himself, there was only really the Champion to consider. He'd fought with her, seen her in action. She was amazing in battle, and not unpleasant out of it. Sebastian let his mind wander, thinking about what she'd be like in bed. Maybe a hellion, fiery and unrestrained or as prim and noble as her title of Lady Amell suggested. She never flirted with him, but always got to her point and was polite and pious. She might be inexperienced, a possibility he hadn't really considered until that moment.

She'd be a very good wife, no matter what, and Sebastian was relatively sure he could convince her of that as well. It was just the selling himself as a desirable husband that would likely take more work.

#

It was the best kind of night. There were bad guys dead, payment to be collected in the morning from Aveline and no bad injuries among Hawke's friends. Varric's shoulder was still sore from when he'd wrenched it in a recent fight, which is why she'd asked Brother Sebastian to join them once again, and he'd made a fine addition to their group.

Hawke was a little annoyed at how well he fit in. Though they'd worked with him before, she thought that might be a one-off. It wasn't. He was a great marksman, though he didn't have the power of Varric and Bianca. Even Fenris had started to warm to him, the two of them laughing at the end of their quest down in Lowtown at some joke Sebastian uttered that Hawke hadn't quite heard. It was Fenris that had invited him to the Hanged Man with them, and here he was, carefully winning all of their gold and then losing it back to them.

At least he had a sense of fair play. And Sebastian was charming, winning over Varric's cynicism with a self-deprecating joke, grudging bit of laughter, and an offer to buy some of the drinks. When he'd downed three tankards of ale, Sebastian took her hand to his lips, kissing the knuckles gently. Everyone else, all of her friends, had been practice as he worked his way to her. Sebastian had slid closer to her throughout the night, and now was sobering up on the bench next to her, his eyes surprisingly clear as he started in earnest, to flirt with her.

He was so achingly handsome, and the trouble was, he knew it. She could admit that she found him attractive to herself, and could quietly admire it. His chin had just the right amount of stubble growing on it to make him seem interestingly roguish, accenting his full lips as they quirked up in another smile at her. His eyes sparkled, and had she not known him to be wholly human, she would have guessed at some elf blood in his ancestry to make them so beautiful, the color so deep. But she knew what he was, even if she didn't know him personally. He was a conman as sure as all the peddlers and traders that worked their way through Lothering, selling promises and dreams in exchange for the silver she got from weeks of work. His mouth, that beautiful pouting mouth that laughed so easily and said nothing but pretty words, looked like it was expert at both kisses and lies.

She enjoyed the flirting.

"So Sebastian," Isabela said, standing above him with her own empty tankard, "are you going to buy me another drink, or shall I get my own?"

The question was an invitation, and Sebastian stood up. For a second her heart sank, thinking that Sebastian might have bored of her lukewarm reactions to his flirting and moved on to Isabela's greener pastures. While Hawke was reminding herself that she didn't care, couldn't care, about Sebastian, he looked down at her. She wondered what he must see; her disheveled as she sat in her armor, hair a mess and her too tired to truly care. If he found fault with her, he didn't make it evident by look or word. "Hawke, my lady, can I get you another drink?" he asked, waiting for her answer before he made his own to Isabela.

The 'my lady' was new, but it still sent a thrill of warmth up her spine when he said it. She should know better. From behind him, Isabela gave her an almost imperceptible nod. "This one's yours," she was saying.

Hawke knew he was a liar, a flirt and worst of all, untouchable, sworn to the Chantry. She'd never be anything to him more than a pretty distraction. But she had so few of those in her life, and she never turned down a free drink.

"Sure," Hawke said, smiling up at him. "But not that whiskey this time if you want your boots to survive the night."

"Noted, my lady," he said, returning her smile with a bright one of his own. His teeth were so perfectly white they had to be enchanted. Rich people did that, didn't they? He turned around to Isabela, who was still behind him, looking quietly amused. "And for you, Captain?" he asked.

"I'm not afraid of ruining any boots," she said, making him laugh. It was so bright and warm it was almost too much to hear. There was a magnetism in it, and it made her want to laugh too, just to join in. It certainly made Merrill giggle from across the table.

"I'll be back," he said, and then turned away from them to head for the bar. The only person that wasn't watching him fondly as he walked away was Anders, who giving Sebastian's beautiful backside a glare. Hawke drew her gaze away from him and shook herself out of it. He was just a charming, pretty distraction, and this was the worst time for her to be distracted.

She wasn't going to let herself be taken in.


	3. Chapter 3

He never had a chance to make any case to Hawke, whether it was about his own ability to be a husband or his desire for her as a wife. Sebastian's shot was denied, because the world fell apart. There was a vague sense of wanting between them, the sweet beginnings of the familiar contra dance that would lead them, inevitably, to more interesting places together. At least there would have been, if Kirkwall had remained intact. The tensions and powers in Kirkwall had greater battles to fight than just the petty hopes of one man.

It was only his offer to help Hawke that kept him alive, because she'd called on him the day the Chantry exploded. He knew his father should have sent for him to come home.

The letter had come just two weeks before, and the Chantry explosion was just one after the night at the Hanged Man, when he made his first gambit towards seducing Hawke. She'd been mildly receptive, and he'd been confident that in time, he could manage to make her come around. The letter burned in the pocket of his belt, a reminder of all he had to do and the time limit upon him. It was still on his person, one of the few personal items of his he had when the Chantry exploded. His bow, the Starkhaven pendant around his neck and that letter, they were all the things of his he had in the world now. Not that he had much anyway, but knowing what little he had was destroyed with so many lives left a strange hollowness within him.

"Hawke," he said quietly as they stood over the deceased husk that was once Meredith. She shook her head at him, but he said her name again, forcing her to look at him.

"What is it?" she asked, her voice hoarse and too sad and tired.

But he didn't have words to say once he had her attention. It was Hawke, her bruised and battered form that came over to him, offered him comfort. She took his hand, but not the way he'd taken hers, there were no teasing kisses or soft caresses, just the warm, solid comfort of the living. "You can stay with me, but we can't go home yet," she told him. "There are people we still need to save. Start a triage center in my house, if it's still standing, so we can pull people from the rubble. You'll need to give them last rites."

She looked up at her friends, the people he'd just barely come to know and spoke to all of them, still holding his hand. They looked back at her, bloody, grave, silent, and expectant. "We have more people to save."

No one argued with her, not even as she rallied the templars and the mages and made them accompany her across the water and back to Hightown as something kissing kin to allies. He held onto her hand the whole way, the better to keep his from shaking.

He wasn't sure what to mourn. Grieving for people pull him down in a tide when he needed to keep his head above water.

For the first time in his life, Sebastian was truly shaken. Were it not for the fickle luck of chance, he'd have died just like so many others he'd known there. The attack happened in the daytime, and that spared lives. The faithful of the Chantry all slept at night, and they would have all died, tucked up in their rooms. Not many were out and about the city, but the timing of it did save a good few, and probably cost more innocents theirs, the people that were caught going in and out or walking around Hightown near the blast. Thinking about it made his head ache and his chest constrict with sadness. Elthina was gone, but she was only one of many. So many.

For whatever reason, months ago, she'd sent the holy relics away, back to the Grand Cathedral in Val Royeaux. Was it strange that knowing she'd prepared gave him a sense of relief? Elthina had known there was danger and while she personally hadn't left, she'd prepared and sent those relics away and some holy texts back to the White Spire. It seemed like a grievous sin to be concerned about such small matters when so much death surrounded them, but he couldn't focus on the big picture.

After he'd gotten his father's letter, Sebastian had thought to leave the Chantry against his father's will, to make finding a wife his only goal. Hawke would surely be more receptive to him if he wasn't clothed in the robes of a Chantry brother, and his father would understand eventually. He was going to set up a household, keep working with the Champion, start courting her officially. But if he resigned now, it would look like he refused to help them in their more dire time, but honestly, Sebastian was scared. He never wanted to personally be quite so close to death for a great many years.

His desires weren't acknowledged by the Maker at all as he hauled broken body after burnt corpse out of the ruins of once fine homes and businesses.

#

Late, late on that never-ending day, Hawke was able to sleep. They rested at the Hanged Man for not more than an hour, and then she fought her way through to Hightown, keeping order as best she could and protecting people. The fighting was mostly contained by the templars and what remained of the City Guard, but there was looting, and desperate, disorganized recovery attempts. She had to lead them herself.

These were ugly days. Her home was intact, as was the Viscount's Keep. They were small mercies, but she was grateful for every one.

After another bleak and bleary night with too little sleep, she woke up with the taste of bloody copper in her mouth and nightmares still clinging to her. Hawke washed and dressed, careful to conserve as much water as possible. When she went downstairs, Sebastian Vael was in her kitchen. He was in her kitchen making bread and the whole house smelled like it. He had been making food nonstop for the recovery efforts, when he wasn't out helping her to move some rubble and try to save or recover people. He knew a lot of their names, both the people of the Chantry, the regular parishioners that had been caught in the blast and the Hightown casualties. There were so many people dead.

He was still scared, she knew. She saw his hands shake from time to time as he kneaded what seemed like a giant lump of flour. But this was what he could do. He could feed people that relied on the Chantry, he could roll bandages, he could fight looters, he would say the rites for the dead. Right now, they were all doing what they could, even thought it felt like too little.

Whenever she found a member of the Kirkwall Chantry, she offered them shelter in her house. It was the least she could do. Unsurprisingly, only a couple took her up on it, and Sebastian was the only one that stayed for very long. The rest preferred to stay where the templars were. She'd love a few templars or a mage to be stationed there with her, but they were all caged together, choosing to stick to what they knew best instead of trying to figure out a new way. All of them helped her work to find survivors.

There were so few.

This was worse than when the Qunari tried to take the city. Then people had just been dead. Now they suffered, crushed and crying, until they went still. They took shuddering, awful breaths that didn't seem to help, bodies barely alive under the makeshift relief tents lingering until those last moments. In the end, it wasn't as bad as it could have been, just over a hundred dead, but there was so much suffering, a huge scar where the Chantry was, so much to be rebuilt.

Sebastian stayed with her. Whatever she asked, he did it, and when she needed to cry, he stayed with her then too.

"Have you cried?" she asked him as she sat slumped against his shoulder, her own face still wet with tears. They were sitting in her library, the two of them huddled in front of the fire there. Sandal and Bodahn were gone to bed, and Orana had promised to sleep after she set up the bread for the next day. The lone Chantry sister that also lodged with her was out, she worked the night shift in the relief tents. She had been hiding in an alcove with an orphan she was bringing back to the Chantry for a meal, and they were boxed in by the blast. Hawke found them on the first day of digging. The orphan was staying at the Gallows with the other children now.

"No," Sebastian said, shaking his head. "I've had trouble sleeping since this began, and I think maybe that's keeping me from my grief."

"I understand. I couldn't sleep after Mother died." She shuddered at the not-so-distant memory. But she'd known he wasn't sleeping well. In the mornings, her gardens were tended in the wee hours before she woke, and he was always working in the kitchens with Orana, dressed and covered in flour before she could manage a morning cup of tea. Maybe she'd seen too much tragedy for it to send her into the shock where he was living at the moment, but Sebastian was still reacting and would be until he could process it.

"Did you know the Grand Cleric long?" she asked, inadvertently cutting to the main source of his distress.

"All my life. I never paid much attention to her to be honest, but she tried to be fair and patient with me. She told me I wasn't meant to be a brother."

"I think she was right."

"Do you?" he asked, and she felt him shake his head. "I admit, I didn't want to be, but now, I'm not sure exactly what I should be."

"Viscount?" Hawke asked, and he chuckled softly.

"No, I'd be terrible at it. But they're close to confirming you, aren't they?"

"I haven't bothered to read the last two notes from the seneschal," Hawke told him, and yawned. "But I suppose I should before I see him again. Sebastian," she said, looking over at him. His eyes were so heavily shadowed and his face badly shaven, but he'd lost none of his attractiveness, none of the handsome appeal he'd held before. If anything the infinite care he'd shown had lent him depth, and he become something more than a pretty distraction to Hawke in this last few days.

"Sebastian," she started again, and then couldn't manage to think of anything to say other than, "try to get some sleep tonight. My sister is on shift in the morning at the relief tent, and Aveline should come herself to collect the bread and check-in. I'll see you then."

Words she hadn't said burned on her tongue, questions that needed to be answered. Why are you still here? Why haven't you run back to Starkhaven to safety? Why do you spend your days giving relief to everyone else and the nights pacing my hallways? Why are you helping so much when before we both know that you weren't the type to help anyone but yourself?

But these last few days gave her pause, and enough understanding to know she could never say those things to him. Instead, she bent and with infinite care, kissed his forehead. His eyes closed as she did, and she hoped he could sleep a little more tonight.

#

Varric told her that the story, as it was, didn't make sense. Hawke knew he was warning her, because when he retold the story, it would change. There would be clear good guys and bad ones, people whose names and faces and purposes were forgotten and smoothed into a better narrative. She thought about that as Sebastian led the Chant for his day of performing funerary services at the Gallows. Varric would tell everyone that she was here, dressed in mourning finery and veiled, lovely and patient, not that she was tired, irritable and wearing her armor again, because even after this she had to go walk a patrol and make sure Kirkwall was as safe as she could make it.

_"My Creator, judge me whole:_   
_Find me well within Your grace._   
_Touch me with fire that I be cleansed._   
_Tell me I have sung to Your approval._

_O Maker, hear my cry:_   
_Seat me by Your side in death._   
_Make me one within Your glory._   
_And let the world once more see Your favor."_

Sebastian had a lovely singing voice. He said the Chant for the most recently deceased in the light morning rain, and Hawke stood in the front row. There were no pews, none of the comforts offered by the old Chantry, but it was filled with people. The Gallows wasn't the most scenic area to have a funeral, but it did have the virtue of having a small chantry for after. After their loved ones were sent to the flame, and they needed the comfort. She also thought it was better if there weren't more fires in Hightown, even if they were sending the dead off to the Maker's side. There had been so much burning there lately, too much fire and distress.

She watched him for the fifth service of the day, and his voice never broke, and he never flagged, giving it as much as he had the first one. Bethany stood next to her, but Hawke didn't look over at her sister. It was just her and Sebastian under the canopy that covered them from the rain, two constants in a mass of people that filtered in and out of the edges of her awareness as the funerals started and stopped in a repeating pattern. When Bethany left, she squeezed her hand but still didn't quite see her face, didn't attempt to focus on anything but keeping herself steady, standing there in the front row.

Hawke stayed for every one. They needed to see her there, and Kirkwall didn't have anything more pressing that she needed to attend today. Besides, Sebastian knew she was there, and every once in a while, between services, he'd look over at her and give her a grateful, weary smile.

She needed to be here.


	4. Chapter 4

It felt like he'd spent the past few weeks either covered in mud or flour. Sebastian still was making bread in the kitchen of the Amell mansion, not sleeping too much and thinking about Elthina. He'd finally been able to start mourning for her, though he wasn't sure what he mourned her as. She was in no way his mother, but she had been something to him, even as disinclined as he'd been to be in the Chantry and adhere to that life. But there was something, regret, a feeling of responsibility towards her, a duty unfulfilled that made him determined to be better. It was his last and only gift to her and all the other dedicates that lost their lives.

Kirkwall was steady in the aftermath of crisis, due to the efforts of Hawke and her friends. It was Hawke the seneschal now openly turned to for guidance, and Aveline that kept the city guard patrolling. It was Hawke that steadied the hand that leashed the templars, and got lyrium flowing into their Order again. It was Hawke that set up the relief tents, who spoke to the grieving families and then turned around and negotiated rates to get the miners working and rebuilding Kirkwall again.

Hawke made him not feel so helpless. He thought about that as he kneaded bread in her kitchen, waiting for the dawn to come. The guards were eating his bread too these days, though their own kitchen was supplying much of the rest of the food for the displaced. The Chantry got regular food shipments, and Hawke had them diverted in three places; the least bit to the Gallows, because much of the remaining Chantry brothers and sisters were living there now, but the Gallows had their own substantial stores. Most of it went to the Viscount's Keep, where the guard's kitchen had volunteers that cooked and distributed it all day, every day. Then to her own kitchen, where he and Orana worked to supplement what the volunteers at the Keep made. Every day he woke up and walked into a room filled with sacks of flour, because his bow wasn't needed and his hands couldn't be idle.

She was in the doorway watching him, and when he had the chance, he looked up to smile at her. "Hawke, how many more bags of flour will I need for thirty loaves this week?" he asked. "I have one and a half left, I think."

"About two," she answered quickly. She was keen with numbers, and though he could have guessed himself, she was more accurate.

"I thought so," he said.

"Why are you still making bread?" she asked softly, coming further into the kitchen.

"Because they aren't making it up at the Keep and all the people that used to get it from the Chantry still need bread," he said, frowning at her. She well knew all the reasons.

"No," Hawke said, looking confused as she stood in front of him. "I meant why are _you_ still doing it?"

"Because you've no need of my bow, and I have to do something. I can't go around singing the Chant and pretending like prayer will make everything fine. I can make bread. I can look people in the eyes as I hand it out and ask if it's enough."

She nodded at him, and he got the feeling she was deciding something about him. It felt like he should say more, but he had nothing left to say about it. He made bread every morning because it had once been his duty in the Chantry. People needed bread.

What did he need?

Part of him must have known already, because he wasn't surprised in the least when he was kissing Hawke in the next moment. He kissed her with all the intensity that was stuck inside, the feelings he didn't know what to do with or how to get out. There was so much wanting, more than when he'd been playing and teasing her at the Hanged Man, more than before when she'd startled him by kissing his forehead tenderly before going to bed. His tongue tasted hers and he lost all thought, sliding further into their kiss, nothing but sensation and want filling his mind.

When she pulled him in for another kiss after the first broke, he let himself fall into it so much that he was startled when Hawke started to push him away. When he stepped away, it took her a moment to speak again.

"I only came here to ask if you'd come with me to speak to the seneschal today. I have a meeting," she said, dazedly.

"I can, if you want." In that second he wanted nothing more than to stand next to her and have everyone know. Hawke was his.

"I'd like your input. You are a prince, after all, and you know about statecraft. I'm still new to this, and I feel unprepared to be Viscountess," Hawke said, and her shoulders sagged as she admitted it.

He wanted to kiss her again, to ease the worry lined that marred her forehead, but he knew he couldn't. The next volley had to belong to her. But even as the press of her lips still lingered against his mouth, he was hungry for more. Within him a desire was awakening, and it was only for Hawke.

Before today, he'd almost given up in his pursuit of her. It had seemed futile and secondary in such times. But now, he might marry the Viscountess of Kirkwall and be free of the Chantry forever. He could still do good works, as he was now, but enjoy them as a prince and a man married to the most powerful woman in the city. A woman he wanted more desperately than anyone he'd ever met before in his life. He could have it all, it was in his grasp. He could marry Hawke, make her a princess and Viscountess and have their children be heirs to both Kirkwall and Starkhaven. The Free Marches would tremble before them. His father would even have to listen.

He was beginning to like the picture of it in his mind.

"The meeting is at noon. If you can manage to get the flour off your person before then, that would be ideal," she said, smirking as she started to leave the room. She would have even sounded cocky, if he hadn't noticed her hands shaking.

#

He'd just kissed her, just like that, and Hawke couldn't stop thinking about it. The hot press of his mouth against hers, the way he'd taken control of it all, his hands pulling her closer until there was no space between them. She dreamed about it, waking up all thirsting warmth and frustrated desire in her bed, fighting with herself to keep from going to guest bedroom just to get another taste. Sebastian hadn't mentioned it again, but she could see it burning in his eyes whenever he looked at her when they were alone. They were living in the same house, and they were alone together a lot. It hadn't really mattered then as it did now that they'd kissed. She'd been aware of who and what he was before.

But he'd changed, hadn't he? Sebastian as she'd known him, charming and roguish at the Hanged Man, buying the drinks, wasn't the same man she found in her kitchen day after day, making sure that all the hungry that once depended on the Chantry knew they could count on him for bread. He was the one that prayed over their loved ones, that offered comfort to the other brothers and sisters of the Chantry whenever he was at the Gallows.

Hawke liked this Sebastian a great deal. It was just unexpected that she got to meet him. She wanted to kiss him again, and let it spool into something more. Maybe she would.

She thought about that as she went to take care of his armor. She had a beeswax creme for her own leathers, and his own dark leather armor hadn't been used recently and probably needed some care. He had a large belt of pockets that he used, one that she'd seen him fishing just about everything out of at one time or another in the past few weeks. But this wasn't a time for fighting, at least not the way it had been. A calmer city invites the kind of bandits and thieves she'd always battled in the streets, but these hard, long nights had been people locked in and hunkered down. The streets were quiet, and only the desperate or the cruel tried them. The people she needed to fight now were the invaders that saw a broken Kirkwall as an opportunity, the raiders that would turn her city into a pirate port without a care for the people.

Isabela was with her, and though she'd set sail at Hawke's command, she flew under no banner but her own. It was so she could move easily, send words of warning and smuggle the food Kirkwall so desperately needed without seeming to have official sanction. Hawke's mind was filled with worry for Bela as she hefted Sebastian's armor and her own, taking it to her meager garden to tend. A lone pocket on his belt was open, and out tumbled a piece of parchment with her name scrawled on the back.

Hawke opened it. It was unlikely that it was meant for her to see, but it was obviously about her. Her name, her full name was written on it and circled and underlined. When she turned it over, she found it was a letter, written in a different hand than the one that had written her name. She sat to read it on a bench in the garden, laying the armor next to her as the gentle splash of her water fountain gurgled in the background.

As she read, her brow creased. It wasn't her business at all, but Hawke never claimed not to be nosy. Besides her name had been written on it, and though she'd never heard Sebastian call her by her Andrastian name, she was certain he'd written it. But then again, this paper had a lot of names of young women written on it and then crossed out until only hers was left. At least one of these names had died in the blast, and she looked at the date on it. Not even two months old, and that made Hawke sigh. The note outlined his clear need for a wife so he could escape the life of a brother, and the time he had to gain such a wife. Sebastian had selected her as the foremost candidate. At least she understood what had happened between them at the Hanged Man a little better now. There was a reason Sebastian had been willing to put up with her tears and commands these last few weeks, and the hard part was figuring out if it was worth trying to learn all the whys.

She put the note carefully back in the lone open pocket, and let her hands take up the familiar task with the beeswax creme so her mind could wander. Didn't she want a husband? Honestly, she wasn't sure. Sebastian might have his reasons for wanting to marry, but Hawke did just fine without the worries of spouse. There could have been comfort and companionship, but the Sebastian she knew now was still in shock.

What would happen in two years or five, when he was bored, idle and the lips she kissed tasted of lies instead of fresh bread and new desire? What would he do if they had children? Surely he wouldn't raise them on his own while she stood at the helm of a city, content in the background. Try as she might, Hawke couldn't imagine a future with Sebastian. That his motives were suspect didn't bother her overmuch, people rarely had altruistic motivations on their own, but she honestly couldn't see the point in saddling herself with a beautiful dilettante of a husband, one who'd already failed in his duty to the Chantry.

"Good morning, Hawke," Sebastian said stepping into the garden with a smile. He looked eager, even enthusiastic, and she knew he was hoping for another kiss, something more to lure her into his plan. Though they may have both enjoyed the kiss they'd shared, it didn't mean she had to fall in with his plan.

Revealing her knowledge would give her nothing at this point. She needed more leverage if it were to be useful, and it wasn't in her nature to blurt things out just to be cruel. Hawke was kind, though she wasn't guileless.

"Good morning," she replied, returning his smile with one of her own. If it was less bright than normal, she could blame it on what she said next. "I hope you don't take offense Sebastian, but I think it's time for you to go the Gallows with the rest of the Chantry. My coronation is upcoming, and you still living with me could send the wrong message."

The words belonged to the seneschal, one of the many faults he'd pointed out in his latest missive, but he wasn't wrong. Sebastian's face fell into a practiced mask of pleasantness, though his eyes darkened.

"Of course. I should have thought of it myself," he said, and gave her a small bow. The defeat was decisive, and all he could do now was be gracious about it. It was then that he noticed the armor. "Keeping yourself busy until then?" he asked.

Hawke gave him a smaller, sadder smile. "It always helps to keep busy," she said.

"It does," he agreed, and picked up the chestpiece to his armor. It was polished, still warm from her hands and shiny with the beeswax. "Thank you," he said, giving her a small smile. He wasn't talking about the armor, though he set it back on the bench reverentially, as if he couldn't bear to handle what she'd so recently tended. With one more nod, left her alone in the garden to finish her self-appointed task.

It was better this way.

#

Almost everyone in Kirkwall came out the day she was named Viscountess by Knight-Commander Cullen. The days before had been filled with rain, but for Hawke, the sun shone brightly and the air finally stopped smelling like smoke and seared stone. Sebastian hadn't seen her since the day he'd left her estate, but she was busy preparing for this day.

He thought of their kiss every day. In the mornings he relived it, the pressure of her mouth on his, the urgency of her second kiss as she pulled him down, and at night he dreamed of more. That kiss was just a prelude to what was surely going to be a symphony orchestrated by the two of them. It couldn't be anything less, not after that start.

She was so regal, standing there alone on the dais. The doubts Hawke harbored about her own suitability or nobility were nullified in his eyes. She belonged there, as Viscountess.

And Sebastian could see no other place for himself than the one right next to her. It burned a slow hole in his chest, the yearning to be with her filling him and threatening to spill over until it washed him away. But he could wait through this ceremony at least.

He managed to wait eight days before he went to her office. The business of ruling was always a business, and with any takeover, there was a need for an adjustment period. Not that he truly thought just over a week was long enough, but he wasn't popping up like a nuisance as soon as she sat on the throne, begging for her attention. He had legitimate business, and he was a friend of the Viscountess. He wasn't sure which of those got him through the door, only that it did.

She was sitting behind her desk when he was admitted, wearing the coronet of thorns as if it made her head heavy. Her hair had been arranged around it, but wearing it must not have been comfortable for her. Idly, Sebastian wondered if it was the same crown that Marlowe Dumar had died in, or if it had been made anew for her. Was there a blacksmith in the city that had the time and skill? He wouldn't know the answer to his musings, because when Hawke looked up at him, the question evaporated from his mind.

"Viscountess," he said, bowing to her. "How are you?"

"Sebastian," she answered, giving him a small, guarded smile. 'Is this a friendly visit?" she asked.

"It is. I wanted to see how you were."

"Well enough, though we are still busy. If I cannot help you, I regret that I have little time," she said, motioning to the stack of papers on her desk.

"Hawke, I had hoped that I might be of help," he started, but Hawke rose from behind her desk, and came over to him. It was the first time he'd seen her up close since he'd been staying in her estate, and though there was little physical change in her, he ate up the sight greedily. It had been too long since he'd last seen her.

"Sebastian," she said firmly and put her hand on his arm. "I am as well as I can be, truly. If your offer was made in friendship, then know that I appreciate it, but I cannot afford the distraction."

"The distraction?" he asked, thrown by her choice of words.

Her smile turned, if anything, even sadder than it had been before. "Perhaps that's not the right word, but it makes my point. I wouldn't be best served by having you here. There are many needs to be met in the city, especially for a man of your talents. I am no longer able to do the things I used to do for Kirkwall. Perhaps you should take up that mantle instead, if life in the Chantry grows dull."

She'd steered him back towards the door as she spoke, and he found himself standing with her on his arm in front of it. Deftly, she extricated herself from his grasp and put her hand on his back. "I look forward to seeing what path you choose," she said, and opened the door for him. Her final smile was firm, kind, but set. Sebastian was being shown the door.

He gave her one last bow and turned to walk through it, straightening his back as he did. The least he could do after that was walk out with his head held high. He ignored everyone else as he left the Keep, didn't turn back to see the closed door that now separated Hawke from him.


	5. Chapter 5

It had been only a few weeks after she'd become Viscountess, and on her worst days, she wondered how Dumar had actually managed to do this job. The Qunari in the city, Meredith and the ever-present threats that clamored around them must have been a terrible job, and she could only hope that her small interventions had made it a little easier. Did it even matter now? She could not have saved him or his son.

Hawke almost let a sigh slip through but knew better. Getting up, she went to check her makeup, applying more lipstick since most of hers had come off when she'd eaten dinner at her desk. It was supposed to have been a grand dinner with an emissary from the Divine all the way from Orlais, but they were delayed. She brushed down her dress as a knock sounded on the door, heralding the entrance of Seneschal Bran. He only ever knocked once before bursting through her door.

"The emissary from the Divine has entered the city, Your Excellency. The delegation from the Kirkwall Chantry awaits your entrance to the throne room," he said.

"Finally. Let's do this," Hawke said, turning away from her last minute inspection of her appearance.

In her throne room for the first time since she'd gently thrown him out, Sebastian Vael stood waiting. It was clear from his gaze that his intentions toward her hadn't mellowed, as she'd hoped they would. If anything they'd intensified, given the way he looked at her and the fierce set of his mouth as he looked at her.

He was still trying to win her over to prove to his father that he shouldn't be in the Chantry.

Hawke met his gaze with a cool smile, and quietly wondering what she should do about it. He wasn't going to leave as easily as he had the last time, and now, well, she wasn't sure she wanted him to go.

Being a ruler was a lonely job, and she'd just started at it. She couldn't go anywhere or do anything the way she used to. Now she knew why nobles and royalty held so many events. The balls, dinners, salons, and musicales were to stave off the loneliness and the complete boredom of always having to follow all the rules.

It was easy to see why Sebastian had once rebelled against this life.

She was seated in her throne, and in short time the dusty, travel-weary emissary from the Divine showed up. The Mother was greeted and honored quickly, for the poor woman was falling asleep on her feet. This messenger from the Sunburst throne wasn't the kind that was sent when the Divine was worried about Kirkwall, this woman was not nearly sharp enough. Had Leliana showed up again, Hawke would have been worried. But she let the sleepy Mother go to her lodgings without much more ceremony, promising that the next morning wouldn't start too early so she would have time to rest after her journey.

That just left her and the member of the local Chantry that hadn't accompanied the Revered Mother to her lodgings in the Gallows. What that actually meant was that it was just her and Sebastian as she walked back to her office, intending to work some more before she went home for the night.

"Staying late, Viscountess?" Sebastian asked, looking around at her office. It was even messier now than it had been last time he'd seen it, but she had a feeling they would tidy it tonight despite her express wish for them not to touch her papers. Bran often overruled her in such housekeeping matters. He listened to her only a little, which was probably a good thing.

"I just had a few more things to do," Hawke said, but interrupted herself with a huge yawn. Sebastian smirked at her from the doorway he was propping up. Hawke felt herself smiling back at him before she was aware that she'd done it. "Perhaps not," she admitted with a shaky laugh. "It was a long wait."

He was different these days, but she hadn't seen him enough to be able to pinpoint what it was that made him feel so changed. Maybe it was the calm that came with restored order. Kirkwall was changed now too, and perhaps he'd gone along with the prevailing winds. He just seemed more confident, more like how he'd been when she'd first met him at the Chantry, before things got to where they were now. Maybe he was better at hiding it from her; that was always an option.

"You look well," she said, making small talk in an effort to fight her own fatigue. "It's been a few weeks since we last spoke."

"How are you, Hawke?" Sebastian asked, looking closely at her with narrowed eyes. When she glanced up at him, his posture was changed. His wide shoulders were squared, defensive and solid as he waited for her answer. He expected her to lie again, to deflect his well-meaning question and show him the door.

"Sebastian, I," she started, but stopped herself. She wasn't sure what to say. It was cold in her office, and she wanted to go home and sit in front of the fire and take a bath. All of those things would be made better if he came too, so she wouldn't have to be so damn alone all the time. But would he go with her, would he come to her bed after she'd so dismissed him before?

But more importantly, should she let him, knowing what she knew about him?

"Will you walk me home?" Hawke asked, smiling up at him. "I find I'm in the mood for some company, if you care to oblige."

Barely masking his surprise, Sebastian held out his arm to her. Hawke took it and almost made it through the door before she kissed him. Almost. She'd pulled him down to her height as if she were going to speak, but she pressed him against the closed door's of the Viscount's office and kissed him. She had too much to say for words.

#

She'd kissed him again, and Sebastian stood there with his arms around her and his mind confused and whirling. He caught her up into another kiss, this time taking care. His tongue slipped in and out of her mouth, coaxing hers out until he felt her moan against his lips. Her fatigue tasted like parchment and chapped lips and he brought her closer to his chest, to his beating heart as he kissed her again until she put a hand on his chest, took a half-step out of his arms and into the darkness towards the front door of the Keep. His head was spinning, tired and too alert as he waited for her to explain.

Hawke didn't explain, she just kept walking as if he weren't wearing most of her lipstick.

Hawke seemed fine once he got her out of the Keep, and Sebastian knew that kind of fatigue. It was the kind that attacked when work was to be done, and left its victim awake at night, worried about everything that hadn't gotten done during the day. He'd seen it come to his parents, to Elthina and now it preyed on Hawke. He couldn't make it right, but he wanted to give her a respite from it, if he could.

"Did you eat dinner while you waited, Viscountess?" he asked as they descended down the many steps in front of the Keep.

"Oh yes, thank you for asking. I'm not hungry, but cold. Strange isn't it? It isn't a cold night."

"Sometimes fatigue will do that," he said, and let the comment drift off into silence. Now that she'd mentioned it, Hawke did feel somewhat chilled at his side as she leaned against him. He wanted to pull her closer, but it would make getting down the stairs difficult. A guard trailed them at a discreet distance, and Sebastian let them lapse into silence as they walked.

He had meant to come up with some conversation before he deposited her at her door, but wit had abandoned him in his time of need. Instead, Sebastian was the silent, steady arm that she didn't really need, standing with her until she reached the front of the Amell estate and a question finally occurred to him.

"Why don't you live in the Viscount's mansion?" he asked.

"Fire damage for one, but I like being able to walk to work. Plus, this house, it's still mine. Gamlen doesn't want to live here, and I can't let it sit empty again. I don't think Mother would have wanted that."

"What about when the Viscount's mansion is repaired?"

"I'll have it renovated while no one is in it, get it some indoor plumbing and whatever else is new. That should take a few years. If it doesn't, I'll let Bran turn it into his pony lounge or something," she said, making him laugh unexpectedly. It was loud against the silence of Hightown, quiet that was usually only broken by the patrol of the guards and the occasional opening of doors.

"Now Sebastian," she said, leaning against the archway of her door. "If I invite you in and you accept, will you understand that I'm not offering you tea and cakes?"

He let the question sit between them for a beat, then looked over at her. This was why she'd kissed him before, because she wanted him, wanted to ask him to come in and stay, but couldn't bring herself to make an outright proposition. This was as bold as she was going to be. She wasn't smiling, but had her head tilted to the side as she waited for his answer. Did he want to go inside with her? The way she was asking, oh he was familiar with her tone and that look, he knew he wouldn't leave until morning. Is this what he wanted?

There had been nights where he'd dreamed of her, but as if to torment him, they'd been chaste dreams. He'd held her hand like he had in the Gallows after their battle, or he'd sat with her again as he had when he was staying with her. It was in his daydreams that he pictured Hawke nude, felt the brush of her hand against his cock or relived the taste of her lips, just as he'd known them a few minutes before in the dark of her office. If he went inside with her, then he'd have to make new dreams after he left his old ones in the dust.

He could do that.

"Lead the way, Hawke," he said, dispensing with her title as she pushed the door open.

He was kissing her as the door fell shut behind them, catching her in his arms and leaving their last kiss thoroughly and irrevocably behind as he did.

#

They kissed all the way up the stairs, and Hawke impressed herself with her ability to walk backwards upstairs while trying her best to take off someone else's clothes. Granted, Sebastian no longer wore the simple everyday robes of a brother, but fancy ceremonial ones that had undoubtedly come from his family as the Vael crest was subtly stitched into the sleeves. She felt it under her fingers as she grasped at his hands, his clothes, any bit of him that would bring the warmth of him closer to her. In the end she failed to disrobe him until they were in her bedroom, but each kiss was better than the last. Sebastian was a marvelous kisser, but she hadn't expected otherwise. No, the unexpected part for her was how gentle he was, how quickly he responded to her slight changes, and how good he was at stoking the fire within her.

There was a fire, one fit to burn down all of Kirkwall if they weren't careful. Just because she didn't approve of Sebastian's ambitions didn't mean she couldn't desire him. And there was an attraction, at least on her end; she thought him quite beautiful. She with her battle scars and ever-present weariness didn't feel like she was a fit match for him, but when Sebastian kissed her, his practiced lips made her forget her insecurities and hesitations.

See, this was why she couldn't marry him. Hawke knew they weren't in the same class, but damn it, she could let herself pretend for one night. Anything longer and her insecurities would seep back in. But now, now she could sink into his leading kisses and push him back on her bed, enjoying the slightly startled look he gave her when she pushed him away to land in the mess of pillows atop her bed. Hawke went over to him and let him pull her down onto his lap, his hands skillfully unhooking her dress as they resumed kissing.

"Hawke," he said, breaking off their kiss to cup her face in his hand. He fit his wide, rough hand around her chin and looked up at her. "I want you so much."

"Then don't make me wait," she said breathlessly. He was stalling for some reason when she just wanted him to get on with it. She didn't want some heartfelt and meaningful moment, she wanted him inside of her before she rethought this recklessness and decided to send him home and have her hot bath and nighttime cup of tea. But Sebastian was just staring as if he'd never quite seen her before, and she couldn't bring herself to look away.

All she wanted was for them to get on with it, to stop the waiting and the push and pull between them. Once this was all over, when it was just a memory, she'd be free to focus just on the not at all small task of being the reluctant Viscountess of a city-state determined to tear itself apart. But his clever hands were stilled, just cupping her face and looking into her eyes with his clouded blue ones.

He might have opened his mouth to say something but he licked his lips instead, and Hawke took that as a sign. She kissed him until they were both flat on her bed, until she somehow wound up underneath him and there was nothing but heat and hands between them. She didn't remember how they got their clothes off exactly, but it was a lot of tugging and tossing and rolling away until every last stitch of it was gone, and Sebastian was naked in the firelight of her bedroom, and she was gazing up at him while her hands roamed in exploration over his chest and shoulders. Hawke felt rather than saw his cock, and ran a fingertip along the length of it, determining that it would satisfy well, and probably more than once. She teased him, but he returned the gesture with his own nimble fingers until she was gasping and he was pulling her hair back to expose the full length of her neck to his ready lips.

Then he dropped his head between her legs, caressing her folds with his lips and feather-soft kisses. Sebastian pushed her desire into true heat, each stroke of his tongue making her squirm until he finally stopped teasing and brushed his tongue over her pearl. The effect was instant, Hawke moaned her approval loudly, and he leaned into the task, sucking aggressively just to make her buck beneath him. An iron grip held her legs in place, otherwise she would have clamped her thighs around his ears after that first pass of his tongue. He held her there, legs spread wide and his face buried between them until she tensed and released, climaxing hard with a groaning grunt that mangled his name.

However inelegant she was in the throes, Sebastian seemed pleased with himself when he made his way up her body, stopping to languidly press kisses into her skin, to explore her divots and scars and moles, to kiss where the dark and light shadows from the fire played across her stomach. When he reached her breasts he caught a pebbled tip in his mouth and sucked so deeply she felt a tug of fresh desire deep in her cunt, and knew that she needed him inside of her sooner rather than later.

When her hands urged, Sebastian was happy to oblige. She rolled and brought herself to the end of the bed, bending so he'd have to stand behind her to take her. He did, hopping out of bed eagerly and lining himself up at her entrance, her ass pointed into the air and free for him to take. Sebastian entered her in one fluid stroke, but both of them cried out at it. Maker, he felt so big inside of her, and she let her thoughts vanish. This was the time to just feel, so she did, she let her cries grow hoarse and guttural as he rode her, knocking her deliciously off balance as her palms slipped on the top of her sheets and Hawke had to grab the post of her bed for support.

She was going to come again, she could feel it building, even as Sebastian's thrusts grew more uneven and quicker. Hawke let herself go, letting her face slip down into the mess of blankets and feeling herself clench around him as the satin sheets muffled her cries. Sebastian had nothing to dampen his cries and his release was punctuated with a roar of some of the most obscene uses of Andraste's name she'd ever heard. He thanked the Maker's Bride for Hawke's tight, beautiful, hot quim and a variety of other things until he subsided into a sort of dazed swearing as he eased his hands from where they'd been gripping her hips.

Hawke toppled forward onto the bed she'd been hanging onto, rolling until she was flat on her back, and she could catch her breath. Sebastian settled in next to her, still muttering curses under his breath and she hadn't the heart to make him leave, not when he put his arms around her and asked if she were finally warm.

She was, for once, and that was what mattered as she fell asleep. When she woke up an hour, Hawke found her partner willing and able, and best of all, better the second time around.

#

The faint light of the sun crept up on him before Sebastian ever thought to try to sleep. He woke up from what he was sure was a half hour long nap, just before dawn and ready to go again. Hawke was awake at his side, and when he kissed her neck, she shivered delightfully in his embrace. She returned his kiss with a deep, consuming one her own, all soft lips and tongue, her thighs rubbing strategically against him until he was well and truly up and stirring impossibly once more.

It was dark in her bedroom still, only the low burning fire and the lone magical lantern still burning. Hawke's heavy red draperies made it darker still, the canopy of her bed open wide in an effort to keep the two of them from overheating earlier in the night. It was chillier now, as it always was just before dawn. She bit his shoulder then kissed the stinging ache away, sweetness atop the marks of the teeth. It made him even harder as she kissed him, and he rubbed himself against her like a cat in a reversal of the way she'd just roused him.

Hawke put all the people in his varied and sordid past to shame, all the lightskirts and widows and steadfast bachelors of his youth were nothing in comparison. It wasn't just that he cared about her, because despite the intentions he'd harbored at the ignoble beginning of their friendship, he did care for her, but it wasn't just that. It was the electricity that arced between them, the inexorable draw that made him feel like he'd been shocked whenever he renewed his acquaintance with her skin. There was something to be said for the heady chemistry that they shared, and how it deepened what was already there.

His back and thighs ached, and yet when she slid on top of him as the first rays of sunshine broke the darkness, he was happier than he'd ever been. His hands bracketed her hips as she straddled his waist, Hawke's overlong hair parted into messy curtains that obscured her face as she looked down at his hips or her own stomach, he couldn't tell.

"Can you see?" she asked, and he propped himself up on his elbows to see where she was looking. He was about to ask for clarification when she said, "I want you to watch us." She grinned up at him, flicking her glance upward for just a moment and giving him a wide, mischievous grin. "This is my favorite part." His answering grin came easily to his lips and was just as cheeky as hers.

"Let's put on a show, just for the two of us," he said, and she gave him a soft, husky laugh that made a fire dance inside of his chest.

With his left arm he swept the pillows from where Hawke had slept and arranged them into a messy pile under his back and shoulders. It wasn't perfect; he didn't want to dislodge her and the pillows weren't that important, but he was angled so he could see well enough without being on his elbows. The tasseled corner of a pillow stuck him softly in the middle of his back, but Sebastian lay on them like a king would sit on his throne.

She lifted her hips just so, and both of them groaned as she guided his length into her. He watched as she'd requested, both of them riveted to the slow glide of him disappearing inside of her. Hawke moved back, just a little, separating their hips and giving herself enough space to watch again as she slid back down his cock. They both watched as she repeated it again, until she looked up at Sebastian.

"Are you just going to lay there? I thought you were good at this," Hawke said, goading him.

"I am," Sebastian answered, lifting his hips to meet hers and swiveling at the last moment so she started to topple sideways. She laughed again, louder this time, and retaliated by rolling her hips against his.

They went on like that, him pushing and her teasing as the sun rose, and Sebastian watched the colors of the morning dance across her skin and blossom into a full light. His moans were punctuated with the dying crackle of her fire, birdsongs and her own answering sounds of pleasure. This is how he wanted his mornings to begin, with Hawke's teasing laughter and the two of them working up an appetite for breakfast.

After last night, he knew the signs of her climax as they came on her. This one was lazy, almost subdued, but he still felt her tense, saw her holding her breath until it all came out in a rush, and she cried out from above him. She was warm honey around him, and Sebastian let her climax come and pass, in no hurry to chase his own.

Hawke went back to her little games, grinding him, tensing herself around his cock, clever fingers teasing his nipples until he gripped her hips and bore her down on him. He came fast and hard, like a lightning strike, his own cries muffled by a surprise kiss from her. Sebastian pulled her into his arms, wanting her close as he fell back onto the pillows he'd pushed behind him.

He kissed her once more, twice more, then fell into another doze with her in his arms.

#

"Orana, it's okay, you can come in," Hawke said. He could hear her voice though she was quiet, and Sebastian was aware that she wasn't in bed with him. "No, don't be afraid, he's asleep and I need your help with this dress."

Sebastian opened his eyes to slits and saw the skittish blonde elf go over to Hawke. Orana hadn't spoken much when he was staying here, but she had helped him with the baking and he liked the girl. Hawke was standing near her armoire, nearly all dressed for the day. Her hair was back to its usual style, no trace of the messy, tangled curtain that he'd so enjoyed seeing as she rode him. Now she was the Viscountess, and her maid, Orana, made that clear when she helped Hawke into her crown.

"This thing is so heavy," Hawke grumbled.

"It's supposed to be, mistress," her maid said, and he caught Hawke giving her a faint smile.

"You are right, as always. I should wake him before I go, shouldn't I?" Hawke asked, and sighed heavily. "Go on, Orana. I'll get him out of here."

"Brother Sebastian is welcome to stay, mistress. I can make him breakfast."

"I'm sure he's needed back at the Chantry, Orana. Go on now, I've got this," Hawke told her and shooed the elf from the room. She came over to stand by the edge of the bed where he was feigning sleep, his eyes completely closed once again. "I know you're awake."

"So I am. You were loud enough," he said, yawning. "You want me out?" he asked, grinning up at her in a winsome way, though he knew the answer. She didn't smile back at him.

"I'm going to the Keep," she said, side-stepping a direct response. "And I thought you might like to get home."

"Hawke," Sebastian sat up in the bed, a pillow dropping onto the floor as he dislodged it. "Last night was," he started, but she held up a hand to forestall him.

"Sebastian, it was nothing but fun. You should remember that. I don't want you to go on and say something you don't really mean."

He narrowed his eyes at her, but Hawke was as inscrutable as always. She might have been behind the Viscount's desk. "What's going on?"

She sighed and sat down on the bed next to him. When she started to pat his legs absently, he wondered what she was trying to say that so eluded her. He nearly asked, but Hawke started to speak before he could. "I know you mean to marry me, and I wanted you to know that while I don't fault you for that, it's not going to happen."

"What?" he asked, a sinking feeling starting to take hold in his gut.

"I saw the letter your father wrote you, before the Chantry went up. I know you need a wife. I'm not the wife for you, but I do like you. Maker, I wish I didn't like you half so well, but then last night would have been a waste of time."

"Why did you ask me to come in?" he asked, but he had a feeling he knew why she'd asked, grimacing as she confirmed it.

"Well, I was lonely and you weren't going to say no. And I thought, 'we are two beautiful people, and we should have this night.' And this morning, as it was. But Sebastian, this is never going to be, I need to make that clear now. I don't want a husband of any kind, and I can't be part of whatever plans you and your father are making."

"It's not a plan," he started, but she got up from the bed.

"It's not?" she shot back. "Then tell me why you were flirting with me so much that night at the Hanged Man? You remember don't you? Before the...before everything changed."

He clamped his mouth shut hard on the retort he was about spit out. She was right, and he knew it, as bitter as it was to take. "I should apologize for that," he said instead, but she shook her head.

"No, it's fine. I know how nobles and kings play." She gave a huffing half laugh and went on, "Yours can't have been the first list my name was on as a candidate for marriage. I can't be offended. But we aren't a good match, you see, especially not now that I'm Viscountess. Don't think that this has anything to do with last night, because that was thoroughly enjoyable," she said and to underscore it, came back around to give him a kiss. Sebastian could only muster up a smattering of enthusiasm for her gentle let-down, and kissed her back softly.

"I have to get to work, Sebastian. I hope we're still friends, but I'll understand if we aren't."

"We are, Hawke. I just," he trailed off, running a hand through his hair, and the picked up again, "when did you find out about the letter?"

"It came out of your armor when I polished it for you, before I was announced as Viscountess."

The day she'd asked him to leave.

"Of course it did," he said acidly, reaching for his smallclothes and pulling them on under the blanket with a lift of his pleasantly sore hips. It felt like she was always closing the door on him, putting up walls between the two of them. He'd thought, hoped really, that after last night there could be more, but it was just another stop between them. "I know you won't believe me, but I care for you, Hawke. That letter means nothing now, not after everything the's happened between us. I love you. Let me stay."

He watched her as she turned her back to him and looked into the fire, and then turned back to face him. He stayed still as she leaned over and kissed him on the forehead, mimicking what she'd done before, the night he'd been comforting her while they both couldn't sleep.

"I can't. I just can't. I don't believe that from you," she whispered. Her eyes were dark, resolute and sad as she pulled away from him. Sebastian suddenly had the sensation that he was both chilled and scalded at the same time, tugging the blanket up to his chest so he could put his hand over his heart as she turned away from him. He heard her feet on the stairs and the opening and closing of the front door before he could bring himself to move again.

She would never let him stay.


	6. Chapter 6

Sebastian wouldn't say he was heartbroken, because he had no notion of it. He was downcast, unsure what to do next.

He'd made two attempts to gain entry to the Viscountess, and Sebastian found out the hard way that he wasn't allowed to see her. The first time was right after they'd been together, and he'd gone to the Keep, hoping to make another appeal to her, this time with his pants on. He was gently but firmly rebuffed. He saw her in an official capacity when the visiting Mother included him in her entourage, but he was never allowed to actually get close to Hawke. Whenever he tried, a templar got in his way, and by her grin, it wasn't by accident.

The second time didn't even merit remembering, because it was such a desperate, stupid attempt to be bold. The last was so ridiculous the seneschal sat him down, told him in that impossibly polite and smirking way of his to "desist trying to get himself arrested" and let the Viscountess be.

"You are embarrassing yourself, Your Highness," Bran said to him, looking down that thin nose of his. Sebastian rather got the sense that the seneschal enjoyed dressing him down.

But Sebastian refused to believe Bran's admonishments, since she'd never told him that she didn't want him around, just that she didn't want to marry him. When he did see Hawke, and she couldn't avoid him entirely, she couldn't meet his eye, nor did she seem able to _not_ look at him. He was no stranger to rejection and knew what it felt like on both sides, but this wasn't it. Her mouth softened when she looked at him, and she never addressed him by his title, always just _Sebastian_ , as if they were still friends. He'd caught her staring at him with intense, dark eyes more than once, but she'd dropped her gaze when he returned her attention.

None of that felt like rejection, like the way she would completely freeze him out or force them into clear, formal roles if she had to interact with him. It seemed to him like she wanted him, like she still had something to say but was keeping him away from her so she didn't accidentally let it spill out of those lips he'd kissed so thoroughly.

She simply didn't believe he loved her, and he wanted to change that opinion. Unfortunately, he wasn't sure how to do it. Love hadn't been part of his repertoire before. Sure, he'd said that he loved lots of people, but that was all part of the game of seduction. "Of course I love you more than your partner does. I appreciate you, darling. Let me show you." But those were specific truths crafted for him to further his own goals. He had loved in a way, he'd loved what he was getting, or the person in that moment, but none of that was like falling face first into love with someone that was determined not to let him in.

What he needed was an ally that knew Hawke, and Varric had all but shut him down when he'd gone to the Hanged Man to drown his sorrows. Aveline was no better, though she knew Hawke longest, she was too busy with her duties and suspicious of his motives. Merrill was fun and open with him, but together they couldn't think of much. It was only when Fenris came to pray at the Chantry, Fenris who came to him instead of the mages to be bandaged after one of his mercenary jobs but usually gave him one word answers to his queries that finally opened up to him about Hawke.

Fenris came to visit him at the house where he was now an esteemed guest, as a Brother of the Chantry and a prince, they could hardly deny him when he asked for shelter. Sebastian's plan, flawed though it was, was to renounce his ties to the Chantry so he could be free to set up his own house in the rebuilt Hightown, and pursue Hawke. Fenris, taking a sip from a goblet of wine, looking less than impressed when Sebastian laid out his feelings for Hawke.

"Hawke said your father commanded that you had to marry or stay in the Chantry," Fenris remarked, his voice as dry as the wine they were drinking. Sebastian was standing, unable to stay still enough to join Fenris in the pair of armchairs. He walked over to a shelf of books and back again as he spoke.

"That is the mandate he gave me, yes, but I can hardly stay in a Chantry that doesn't exist. Besides that was before this all happened. I've lived with her, Fenris, at the very worst of times. Believe that I know what's true in my heart, and I can't deny these feelings."

"Then you will likely find your feeling unanswered," Fenris said, voice flat with the certainty of fact. "I've never known Hawke to take a lover, or to even flirt with anyone besides Varric. Even Isabela hasn't been able to crack those walls."

"Is there something between her and Varric?" Sebastian asked quickly, but Fenris chuckled at the question.

"Yes, money, mischief and a mutual respect. I believe that's all it is though."

"Oh, is that all?" Sebastian asked archly, then turned away from Fenris, frowning in thought. "We were together once. Just for a night," he admitted to Fenris, surprisingly reluctant to get into the details. "But she doesn't trust that when I told her I love her that it was from my heart."

Fenris was silent for several minutes. Sebastian cast an anxious look over at him, thinking he might see censure in his face, but the only thing Sebastian could get from Fenris was a sense of deep contemplation. Normally, that was one of the things Sebastian most appreciated about Fenris, was that he listened and thought before he spoke. Now it just served to worry, tying him in knots wondering what Fenris must think of him and this situation. If Hawke had told no one of their night together, then Fenris might think him lying about it, and Sebastian had no way to prove that he wasn't, short of getting Orana to verify that he'd been kicked out of Hawke's bed that morning.

"I have no notion of relationships to draw upon," Fenris finally said, shaking his head at Sebastian, hair catching the candlelight and glowing white gold as he did. "What Isabela and I have isn't what you feel for Hawke." Fenris shrugged elegantly as he thought on it, his eyes not focused on Sebastian. "However, if trust is the issue, then you must regain it and be at peace that you might never do so. There is worthiness in the endeavor."

Sebastian was nodding at his words, his mind already spinning forth ahead of himself, trying to make an impossible plan to impress Hawke. All he had to do was prove to her that he was a man in love, that she wasn't simply a single-minded focus for him to get back to his princely status, but that he was true. He'd never been truer about anything in his whole life. Viscountess Hawke was more than what he deserved, but Sebastian was but mindless servant to his own heart.

"If you want to see her, go to the Keep." Sebastian looked over at him, startled to find him still sitting in the armchair with an empty wineglass when Sebastian had been so far away in his own mind. "She cannot both lead the city and prowl the streets these days, try as she might. I cannot say if making your case in person will convince her, but honesty will certainly help," Fenris said. He got up after that, and re-shouldered the greatsword he habitually wore everywhere. "I should go. Come to the Hanged Man later this week for drinks. She won't be there, she never is anymore, but a card game is a good way to forget there's still ash raining from the sky."

"I will," Sebastian said, smiling over at him. "But I think I have much to do before we meet again."

"I hope so," Fenris said, giving him an answering smile. "Be well, Sebastian."

#

The Viscountess Hawke stretched in her chair and got up from her desk. It was another in an endless series of long days, and she would work well into the evening. Outside it was a fine day, clear skies and temperate winds blowing in to dissipate the rising heat of midday. From her window, she could see people coming and going to the Keep, the guards gathered around the outside, the templars that patrolled, and the harried nobles who were lining up outside her office. Music from down below wafted up to her window and she stood near it, listening to the song. The minstrels were inspired these days, she'd heard at least four new melodies in the past week, all of them love songs. Something about the songs touched her own heart, still tender from rejecting Sebastian.

Bedding him had been a mistake. He was akin to a fire in her veins that she could neither quench nor exorcise. When she wasn't working, Void, even when she was busy with work she thought of him constantly. It should have been nothing to be with him, especially knowing what she did of his father's decree, but it was Sebastian. She had known him, however briefly, before the date of the letter. He'd helped her rebuild Kirkwall when she couldn't save it, and then he'd whispered the filthiest and sweetest words across her skin as he kissed her everywhere. She thought she could separate the two versions of him, but they were all the same, smiling across at her from her dining table, over baking bread, as they killed slavers and as she lay in bed with him inside of her.

It had been such a mistake. She'd been right to force him from her, no matter what he said. Letting him stay would have made it too easy to fall in with whatever plans he'd made. It didn't matter what words he said, he might even truly believe they had something, but she had to protect herself, this city, and her office. He would have none of those interests in mind, Sebastian just wanted to be a prince again. Hawke had to believe she'd made the best decision, no matter how hard it was to endure. As if on cue with her own increasing melancholy, the music ended outside and another song struck up, this one too lamenting the loss of love in a mournful tone.

 _When I called upon_  
_you yesterday_  
_my love, my love_  
_your smile was dim_  
_no dimples did I see_  
_no light in your eyes_

_What did I do to lose your heart?_

"May I enter, Viscountess?" A voice asked from her doorway and Hawke turned at the sound of it.

"Of course, Guardsman Donnic," she answered. He came in and sat in one of the chairs nearby, and Hawke, still half-listening to the music of the lute outside, went to sit with him.

"The Guard-Captain sends her regrets, and has asked me to fill you in on the progress. She is indisposed at the moment," he explained.

"More trouble?" Hawke asked, and Donnic filled her in on the situation from the night before.

"After following a lead from a smuggler we caught, he paid the fine so he's out now, probably smuggling again already in new ways, we were tipped off about a counterfeit lyrium ring. There are both mages and former templars out there, they ran away from the fighting, imprisonment, or just their duty. They're out there buying and taking this stuff and it's fake, all of it, and is whatever they can find that resembles lyrium with a dash of it thrown in for color and texture," Donnic said.

"What is it really?" Hawke asked.

"Poison, for the most part. We were finding bodies or getting reports of them, especially in Lowtown. Probably more sick people who don't want to go to the Chantry clinic, but all we have were the dead ones to go on. Most of the mages in the Circle come from Lowtown, that's where they go back to when they break away. Funny thing how the people in Hightown don't have the same problem," Donnic mused in a dry tone that Hawke chose to ignore. "Anyway, Viscountess, we knew people were dying, but not why until then. Aveline, ahem, the Guard-Captain followed the clues until she found a warehouse, and they weren't letting to go easily. But now we're stuck guarding a warehouse full of contraband that needs to be destroyed while the Captain tries to make sure that's the last of it."

"Aveline's busting through the warehouse district without me? Damn it, she has all the fun," Hawke said, startling a laugh out of Donnic.

"She does miss your presence. She said so last night. I only got sent back to give you this report because I had to come back anyway and brief the new shift. We've got some looters to catch up with, people that stole from the Blooming Rose while Hightown was burning. Madame Luscine is very interested to get back some of their mementos, especially since most of them don't own much anyway."

"Understandable. But you'll be able to recover some of it for them?"

"I think so. We're trying anyway, there's a lot of people that lost stuff or other people and are claiming things are their own or belonging to some lost relative or friend." He sighed. "It's hard to keep up."

"You're doing good work, and I appreciate it. The city does as well," Hawke said, remembering that she was supposed to be talking to Donnic officially, not just as his friend.

"I've got a sample of the fake lyrium downstairs in Aveline's office. It barely even looks right, doesn't have that weird glittery sheen about it, but when you're desperate you will take anything I guess. That's all from the guard for right now, Viscountess. Aveline told me to remind you that she might ask for an increase in fees for new armor and repairs, because we're taking a battering everyday now, but like as not she'll talk to you about that herself when she has the time." Donnic stood up and Hawke stood with him.

The sound of applause from outside came in and the musician started up another song, this one faster but still a love song. Hawke shook her head at window. Donnic blew out an annoyed breath as he walked to the door.

"How can you stand it? They've been at it for a week at least," he asked.

"They're just love songs, Donnic. Someone's had their heart broken," Hawke said, shrugging. "Poor bastards."

"Viscountess, they're about you. They mentioned your name, not Hawke, your given name. That's why they're playing outside your window," Donnic said.

When Hawke turned to him, he wasn't meeting her eye and wore an expression of extreme discomfort. He regretted telling her, that was evident, but all she could do was gape. Her name was in the songs? She hadn't ever heard it, but she hadn't paid much attention until today.

"But why?" Hawke asked in a whisper. Even as she gave voice to the words, she knew why.

Donnic, still uncomfortable, shrugged. "Maybe you've an admirer. I'm sorry I mentioned it, Viscountess, I just thought you knew. I can have the guards clear them out if you want."

"No, it's fine. Thank you for the report, Donnic," she said, and practically pushed him out of her office as she wandered into Seneschal Bran's office.

Bran was sitting behind his desk writing, looking up when she sat down in one of his guest chairs. She squirmed in it. They always made her back hurt, but she suspected that was the point. He pointedly took out the plugs that blocked his ears, heavy wax on a string that went around the back of his head. The music must have been getting to him, which meant that he knew about it. Hawke glared at him.

"Viscountess?"

"Are the songs about me?" she asked.

"Yes. And before you ask I've told them to leave but their apparently permitted to play there for another week. The magistrate approved their performance permit to play there specifically."

She stood up and without saying goodbye, left his office. She sent her page to find His Highness, Sebastian Vael, and bring him to her immediately.


	7. Chapter 7

Sebastian made the page wait for his answer, because he was busy drinking wine. Truly, he couldn't have timed it better even if he'd tried. The page the Viscountess sent found him drinking wine in the courtyard of the house in Hightown where he was staying, the family that offered their gracious hospitality having just departed for Antiva. Only a skeleton staff was left behind, and he lamented the loss of their excellent cook. He was alone and offered the boy a seat while he composed a suitable reply for Hawke.

"Was she angry?" Sebastian asked, and the boy nodded.

"She don't yell, messere. It's more like she gets silent and cold, but she was right mad. She only said to bring you to her."

"Well, I'm not inclined to go at the moment. What do you think we should tell her?"

"You should _go_ , messere. The Viscountess summoned you, so you should go now," the boy insisted, but Sebastian shook his head.

"I will, but later tonight. Not now. I think I should send you back with a message. Tell her that I am busy at the moment, and give her a note," Sebastian said. He quickly crossed the yard into the house, leaving the boy waiting alone. When he came back he was armed with quill, paper and ink and started penning his note.

"What do it say, messere? I can't read yet meself, but I have a tutor. Her Excellency insisted on it so I could stay in her service."

"What's your name?" Sebastian asked.

"Charles, but everyone calls me Chase."

"Well Chase, it says that I shall call upon the Viscountess at my earliest convenience this evening, after sunset, and that she must wait for then if she wants to see me." It said a little more than that, including the phrase, 'if you want me all to yourself', but he gave the gist of his note to Chase.

"Okay. I can tell her that if the note gets lost. You'll be by this evening. Anything else?" Chase asked and Sebastian nodded.

He took two gold coins from his purse and handed them to the boy with the note. "If she asks what I was doing, tell her the truth. Take this gold piece and tell her I was drinking wine alone when you found me and that's how you left me. Then give the other gold coin to the players outside of her window and tell them to come get the rest of their bonus."

Chase nodded gravely and took the sovereigns, probably more than he made in several months of work, and looked Sebastian in the eye. "You can count on me, messere."

"Good man. You'll do well in Her Excellency's service," Sebastian said as he sat back down to resume his drinking. His goblet was empty and he rose to reach for the bottle to pour more. "Now go on, I'm sure your mistress will be eager for you to return."

Chase was as good as his name, out of the garden courtyard and booted feet plodding down the stone hall before Sebastian could even finish pouring himself a new goblet of wine. As he drank in the first gulp, Sebastian savored the sweetness of it as he thought of what he would say to Hawke that evening.

#

When Sebastian entered the Keep, it was much the same as it was any night. The guards were patrolling, but there was no more business with the public, the people that populated it gone home for the evening. The cleaners were busy scouring the corners of the rooms with their mops, sweeping the rugs and shining up the throne. Hawke almost never used the throne room, though Sebastian would avoid it too after knowing Viscount Dumar died in that very space.

He wondered how mad Hawke really was, and couldn't help grinning a little at the thought of it. Facing her on his terms, even just dictating the time, added to his bravado. Not that Sebastian was expecting her to fall into his arms because of a few songs, but he wouldn't reject her if she did.

As he rounded the last steps to her office, he passed by the open door of the seneschal. When he knocked on the door to Hawke's office, he heard the click of Bran's door as it closed. At the sound of the metal clunk of the heavy lock, his confidence dipped just a little.

"So you decided to show up. I had my doubts you'd actually come," Hawke said as she opened the door. "I heard about your busy afternoon."

"What do you need, Hawke?" he asked, feigning a cool he didn't feel as she closed the door behind him. He started to go over to the chairs and table that set away from her desk, but Hawke put herself in hia path to stop him. She was angry, so much that it burned like desire in her eyes, and made her intense focus on him almost too much to bear. Her hands sat on her ample hips, as if she were a Chantry matron in the schoolroom, about to give him a scolding. Was it wrong to be aroused by her anger? Because here he was, growing wood in her office while she stared daggers at him.

"Why are the minstrels singing songs with _my name_ in them?" she asked, and she truly was mad, because the question came out in a hiss.

"Because I wrote them, and I paid them to sing them to you. I thought that would be obvious," he said. Sebastian stepped around her, stopped, kissed her cheek and then went to sit down. Hawke wheeled on her heel to face him but didn't respond immediately, though Sebastian caught sight of a fetching blush beginning on the cheek he'd kissed.

Oh, how he wanted to do so much more. He wanted to kiss her until she half-moaned and grunted his name again, just like she had that night. But he had some restraint, especially now that Hawke was looming over him, frowning. Damn it, he shouldn't have sit down and let her have the height advantage, but Sebastian made it his mission to look supremely comfortable despite her determined grimacing. Sebastian positioned himself in the chair, settled down and then looked up at her expectantly. Hawke wasn't so uncouth as to remain standing when he was giving her such a reproachful look, though she was likely to resent him for forcing her to abide by the rules of propriety.

When she sat down, he realized he knew her too well because she was schooling her scowl back into a polite mask, and he was a little disappointed to see her anger reined in. Though she might be mastering her expression, she was in no way mollified, he could discern that by the stiff set of her shoulders and the same fiery stare he'd gotten before. Sebastian spared her a leisurely glance, then looked down at his clothes and brushed away imaginary travel dust. When he was quite finished he deigned to look back up at her. Hawke was thoroughly furious now.

"What do you need, Hawke?" he asked again.

"Make them stop."

"I can't. I already paid them."

"I'll pay them more," she said, and got up. She paced while Sebastian watched, chuckling to himself.

"Why does it bother you so much?" he asked, truly interested.

"Because they're out there singing love songs and you don't love me. This is all just a farce to get your way," she answered, the words rushing out of her.

"It isn't," he said, getting up. He sensed if he protested more, it would just satisfy her urge to fight him, and he couldn't allow that. "If that's all Hawke, I'll take my leave." Sebastian made to leave but she planted herself in his way once more, still looking thunderous.

"This isn't funny--"

"--Neither is denying my affections because it's what you want to believe," he finished.

"Stop pretending," Hawke said. "There's nothing between us besides your desire to reclaim your princely title and one mistake of a night."

"Mistake? Is that so?" he asked, careful to keep his tone level. His own anger was rising in response to hers and he had to fight to keep from kissing her.

"It was a mistake," Hawke asserted, and then Sebastian did lean in and kiss her, just to prove how wrong she was.

This kiss was angry and hot, nothing sweet or gentle about it. It was his mouth capturing hers and silencing all her protests as he pulled her close to him. It was Hawke uncurling her hands from the fists at her side to bend his head to hers, raking her hand through his hair. They were locked together, tongues tangled in a war that neither wanted to lose. When he broke away to breathe, she kissed the stubble he hadn't bothered to shave away before coming to see her. Sebastian returned the kiss with one to her neck, and then a trail of them to her collarbone, then went back to her lips, those perfect lips that once said his name so passionately. Then he let her go, taking a step back.

"It wasn't a mistake," he told her, and then stepped around her, heading towards the door. "If you want me to stop, say so now, otherwise I'm going to keep pursuing you until you agree to marry me."

He waited with his back to her, his eyes closed in anticipation and dread. All she had to say now was 'No'. He didn't want to see her face if she made him stop, though he would respect her wishes if she did.

"You can't just kiss me and leave. Sebastian, come home with me tonight," she whispered, the words shaky. "I shouldn't want you so much, but damn it all, I do."

He shook his head, turning to look over his shoulder at her. The candlelight was dim and there was no moonlight coming in through the windows, just her standing mostly in shadow with an expression on her face that he couldn't rightly read or understand. There was a war waging inside of her, but he'd only started fighting.

"I can't. Not until you tell me that you love me too."

She laughed, a hard, angry laugh. There was bitterness in it that he hadn't heard in her, not before she'd been named Viscountess. "You never demanded love from any of your other bed partners, I'm sure."

"I've never fallen in love before, that's true," he conceded, and she immediately sobered. "But I can wait until you're convinced."

And with that, he walked out the door. He wasn't as confident as when he'd come in but she hadn't told him to stop, so he wouldn't.

#

"You don't look so cheery there today, Viscountess," Varric said, standing in her doorway.

"Varric? Did we have a meeting?" she asked, peering up at him through bleary eyes. She'd been in meetings all morning and reviewing contracts in the afternoon. The seneschal, who'd been standing next to her desk, pointed out the next line where she needed to sign and let her scrawl her signature. Bran swept the papers away before Varric could cross the room. She noticed Bran was careful to keep the freshly signed one on top, probably was itching to go spread drying sand across it lest it be marred and unreadable.

"Can you spare a moment?" Varric asked, and when she nodded, Bran took the papers with him and left the room.

"What's up, Varric?" Hawke asked, propping up her chin with her hands as he sat down in front of her desk.

"Merchant's guild business gone awry. I hate to bring it to you," he said, tugging a sheaf of paper from under his duster. He pulled another batch from a messenger bag that was slung over a shoulder. All together the papers made up a hefty bundle, but nothing like the contract she'd just been signing.

"Give me time to look over it. Is that all?" she asked, raising her eyebrow at him. "I find it hard to believe you came all the way down here to play courier."

"Well," he looked everywhere but her as he geared up to speak, gaze finally settling on her bookshelf, "I wanted to see if you were mad at me."

"Mad? Why would I be? What have you done, Varric?"

"Ah shit, I should have been smart enough not to walk into that. Your royal admirer enlisted my help, and I had no idea what he was doing at the time."

"Oh, the musicians?" she asked and laughed. They were still playing outside of her window, with a new repertoire of songs written for her. "Well, it is a little embarrassing, but he hasn't come back to try and convince me he's in love with me and a few songs will fade into memory soon enough."

Honestly, she'd been shocked when she realized the songs were about her, and angry that she hadn't realized earlier. A little humiliated too, because now the whole city was talking about her admirer, speculating on whose love she must have spurned. But there was a tiny, infinitesimal part of her that was flattered as well, because he had written her _love_ songs. No one had ever done so much as send her an anonymous love note before. Hawke wasn't a vain woman, but it was nice to have some record of her as more than the slayer of the Arishok and a fighter.

Though she'd told Sebastian she would pay the musician outside her window to stop, she hadn't the heart to do so, and spent a little bit of time everyday listening to them. Going up to them like the crowds did would be too bold, she couldn't risk it, but she listened to their songs now. She heard all the words of he'd written for her, the nonsense about the curve of her eyelashes fanned against her face, the way her hair felt like silk, and the not-so-nonsense stuff about how much he wanted her to trust and believe in his love.

"Hawke, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it's more than just a few songs. Here," he said, reaching once more into his bag. "This is fresh from my publisher."

She took the book warily. It was a thin volume, just bound pages, but she almost didn't want to touch it. She'd waded through the sewers of Kirkwall for her friends and the good of the city, but a small book had her shrinking away in fear. Part of her wanted to read it in private, but Varric's honey brown eyes were locked onto her, expectant of some reaction, so she paged through it.

For some reason she'd expected love poems, maybe because Sebastian had been writing her songs. Love poems would have been preferable. They were letters. Love letters to her, all of them, addressed in various glowing terms as 'my love' or 'my heart'. Nothing in them seemed to be very specific, and a breath of relief passed through her that he hadn't mentioned their night together. No, it was more general, but declarations of his love, hopes and wishes for them to be together, and how much he admired her.

She should be flattered, but all she could feel was a tired anger. This was just another piece in a dance designed to impress his father, not her. If he'd sent her these letters, Hawke would have read them. Instead he published them, and she was reading them for the first time with an audience. They weren't truly meant for her. She schooled her expression into something more neutral, skepticism she didn't have work very hard to feign and shook her head in disbelief at Varric.

"Have you spoken to him?" Hawke asked, sighing as she set the bundle aside.

"Sebastian? No. He's in Starkhaven," Varric told her, surprising her yet again.

"Whatever for?"

"I couldn't say," Varric said, shrugging. "I just wanted to see how you were taking it. I'm surprised no one else told you about the upcoming publication. They will be out sometime later this week, and the printer is anticipating a sell out."

"Of course they are. Thank you, Varric. I'll look over the Merchant's guild papers you gave me and I'll get back to you," Hawke said.

Varric got up and walked to the door. "Are you okay? Really?" he asked, and Hawke shook her head.

"I'm not okay, I'm Viscountess. But I'll be fine," she said.


	8. Chapter 8

The air was so damned clean here, it almost made him want to cry for Kirkwall. He might have done so, but Kirkwall had taken too many of his tears as of late, and so his eyes were dry even as he coughed up the ash and dust and grit of Kirkwall for days after he first returned home. It was so clean here, so sanitized. Starkhaven wasn't without its scars, but Kirkwall was desolate in comparison.

He hadn't expected a warm welcome in Starkhaven, but Sebastian was a little surprised at how well he was treated. His parents weren't the most openly affectionate of people, but they had been worried after the events in Kirkwall. Not worried enough to send for him, but relieved to see him hale and healthy in Starkhaven. Now if he could convince his father to give what he needed, to give him the space to make things happen. His parents insisted upon leashing him to the Chantry, despite his insistence that there was no longer a Chantry in Kirkwall. They wanted him to stay there, away from Starkhaven in a limbo that didn't benefit either of them. He wasn't useful as a lay brother in Kirkwall, nor could he come back to Starkhaven and live his birthright.

Starkhaven had changed during his tenure in Kirkwall, and he could see the marks left after the Circle of Magi here had burned down. That suspicious fire and his family catching and killing all of the Flint Company Mercenaries that tried and failed to assassinate a few years back had left the city with a guarded wariness that was new. People didn't linger on the streets as much, and there were more angry drunks in the bars and less singing. He didn't like it. People didn't prosper living under such tension, but as usual when he tried to talk to his father about it, he was told that it wasn't his place to worry about such matters. He lived in Kirkwall, after all, so his opinions had no place in Starkhaven.

If only he were a prince in more than just a title he was forced to discard when he joined the Chantry. Despite his attempts to discuss serious and worldly matters with his parents, they still treated him like the errant boy he was when they sent him away, not a man grown. Nothing he could say would matter until they had the proof they wanted of his maturity. This trip had been his one chance to impress upon them the need for his own household, to break away from the ties that still bound him to the Chantry. All of his requests were denied out of hand, before he even had a chance to fully make his case.

There was no reason for him to stay overlong here, nor did his parents encourage him to extend his visit when he started to pack up after a week. They hadn't let him be free in the city anyway, he'd always been guarded or watched, and not allowed out at night to drink. That was fine with him -- he didn't need to go to a tavern and he had no desire to meet anyone -- he'd only come home to see his parents. With all of his goals thwarted by them, Sebastian was ready to go back to Kirkwall to regroup.

"Sebastian, may I speak with you?" his mother asked, but she was already standing in the doorway to his room. There was no way he could deny her, even if he'd wanted to deny her an audience, but he didn't. It wasn't usual for her to come to him, but he wasn't going to turn her away when she sought him out.

"Of course, Your Highness," he said and put his things down. He was nearly done packing anyhow.

"It's strange to see you like this," she started and Sebastian moved aside so she could come into the room and sat down. Whenever his mother started obliquely, he knew he was in for a long talk.

"How so?" he asked, playing his part.

"I thought you might never come back to Starkhaven to start, but here you are. You're a man now, once I worried that you might not, well, we all get older, don't we? But not all of us mature."

It took Sebastian a moment to recognize that his mother was trying to give him a compliment. He nodded his head at her, encouraging her to go on. The sooner she got to the point, the sooner this would be over. He was sure she had one, she hadn't just come down to compliment him.

But his mother didn't speak further, instead she sat down on his bed. He was put up in a guest room, away from the family apartments but still in the secure wing. Whatever had happened to his old room, they didn't say and Sebastian didn't ask. His things might be in storage if the servants were just told to clean it out and not to dispose of everything. It didn't matter much, he had his grandfather's bow, and that was all he'd ever really wanted.

"I read your letters," she told him, looking directly at him for the first time. She'd been sitting placidly, waiting for him to say something, and when he didn't, it forced her into uncharacteristic bluntness.

"My letters? The ones I sent home?" he asked. Once, when he'd first gone to the Chantry Sebastian had wasted paper and ink begging to be let out, to come home. He had tried, and he was still trying, but his letters were never anything more than requests. Why would she mention this?

"No, I meant the ones to the Viscountess of Kirkwall. I've seen them," his mother explained and Sebastian froze. He barely breathed as he waited for her to go on. "The book was lovely, Sebastian."

And then his mother looked like she might cry, just for the barest hint of a second when her face was too honest, but she didn't. She never would, not where he could see. He felt something, an unexplainable feeling in his heart, as if it clenched up at the thought of regaining even a scant bit of respect in her eyes. His mother hadn't thought he'd become a man that could love anyone but himself, but now she had proof that he did. She might never know Hawke, not truly, but she would know of her heroism, and what kind of woman and leader she was.

"I love her, Mother. I don't expect people to understand that, and I know I am the worst candidate for her heart. But it's true." He gave a half-laugh that sounded dead to his own ears. Here he was telling his absentee mother about the workings of his heart. His mother looked surprised that he would admit it to her, but he had nothing more to lose with his brazen honesty. "She doesn't even believe me yet, but I have to try."

"That's why you came back, to see if we'd make allowances. Does she need you to formally renounce your ties to the Chantry?"

Sebastian shook his head. "No, I just thought it might help. She might see me as a free man, able to shape the future I choose and not a lapsed Chantry brother."

Unexpectedly, his mother laughed at that turn of phrase, grinning as she fixed him with another look. Sebastian and his mother shared many features, so much that it was startling look upon her and see so much of himself. He had her thick hair and nose, though his had been broken and bore the signs of it. Her eyes were shaped like his but weren't the bright Vael blue his were, though their glassy green gaze was unrelenting even through her amusement.

"I can't tell you what to do, I've never had the good fortune to meet the current Lady Amell, but she is from a fine family. It's a good choice, if you can manage it."

"I hope I can, Mother," he said and sighed. He had no idea what he was going to do when he got back, now that he'd failed. There was the small chance Hawke would be impressed by the letters, but somehow he doubted they'd get her to fall into his arms.

"Take heart," his mother said. His despondency must have shown on his face, because her gaze turned sad. "It will take some work, but if she is worth it, then you will have everything you've wanted, and be consort to the Viscountess to boot." His mother got up and gave him a warm smile. It reminded him of better times, of the days when she made the time to spend with him instead of leaving him with the nursemaid. Those days had been rare. "I'll see what I can do for you, but I fear it is little. Go with my blessing, Sebastian."

"Thank you, Mother. May Andraste ever guide your steps," he said. His mother's eyes flashed again with that pleased surprise he'd seen when he'd announced that he loved Hawke.

"You know, this doesn't have to be a fair fight, Sebastian. Keep that in mind, won't you? You don't have to be fair when convincing her, just honorable." With that said, his mother swept from his room, leaving him alone to finish packing once again.

This was going to take some work, but he believed that they both were worth it. It was time to leave, so he could get back to Kirkwall and see where the pieces lay after this last gambit.

#

This book of love letters was an utter disaster.

Not in the way that they weren't moving or sincere, but that they were far too good at inspiring sentiment in other people. Hawke paced her office, quietly fuming as she thought on it. A week had passed since "Love Notes for the Viscountess" was published and she couldn't escape it. The musicians outside her office were gone, but they might as well have been there still playing for her. Everyone was either singing one of those damn songs or quoting Sebastian's love notes at her.

Even her seneschal had been humming one of the songs under his breath. She hadn't thought Bran had a romantic bone in his body, though he caught himself and stopped humming when he realized what he was doing. They didn't speak of it.

It had occurred to Hawke that she should try to see if Sebastian was sincere. She'd planned to summon one of the nobles that knew him and question them about his habits, whether or not this was just him acting, but she squashed that plan before it could really form. If she did that, she might as well announce that they were together, because it would be all over Hightown the minute the noble left her office. It was easier to deal with the knowing smiles, the giggles and raised eyebrows from everyone around her.

Sebastian was humiliating her and he wasn't even in Kirkwall. Hawke wanted to yell at him but she couldn't, she wanted to rage, to cry.

More than any thing else she wanted to kiss him until she couldn't breathe and that made her even angrier at him.

He had no business being so good at kissing, or at flirting with her, or in bed, or...it didn't matter. Sebastian could stay in Starkhaven for all she cared. If only he could take his stupid book and all of its fans with him, Hawke could finally get a little peace.

When she quit the Viscount's Keep that evening, she was sure she'd only gotten about a third of her allotted work done, but it didn't matter. Bran had gone for the day, off to an appointment she was sure in no way was at the Rose with Serendipity. Hawke stomped home, annoyed with her lack of progress during the day and the looks that came her way on the walk to her estate.

Walking through the threshold calmed her. This place, however haunted with memories, was still hers. It was only when she called out for Bodahn and found only Orana that she remembered it was his day off. He and Sandal liked to go see some of his merchant friends, and they usually were out until well after supper. Orana offered her food, which Hawke requested on a tray in her room, and trudged up the stairs.

Hawke kicked off her slippers so they landed vaguely in the direction of her mirror, and started to take down her hair. Orana had just come up to drop off her tray of food when a noise made Hawke's ear prick up. It was the slight, soft sound of something quietly dropping, but Orana was walking down the stairs and Bodahn was out. She went to check each window, abandoning her food as fear stole through her when Sebastian slipped in through the last one before she could make sure it was secure.

"I thought you were in Starkhaven," she hissed at him as he shut the window and secured it behind him. "Why are you breaking into my house?"

"You heard me?"

"You were loud landing. People in Ostwick heard you," Hawke said, though she knew he hadn't been that loud, it was just her years of practice that made her pick up on the sound.

"Clean your gutters, Hawke. Maker, it's a mess on your ledges."

"Get out of my house," she said, angrier now that he was here in person. All the impotent rage of the last week welled up in her and she was about to show him the door with no great amount of gentleness, but he held up a hand to stop her.

"I have something for you," he said, and handed her a bundle that looked suspiciously like the one Varric had dropped in her office when he first told her of the manuscript.

Hawke crossed her arms over her chest. "I've read them."

"And you didn't write back?"

Hawke went over to her desk took up her quill and parchment and wrote. When she handed him the note, Sebastian laughed, the sound of it husky as he tried to keep his mirth quiet. The note said, _Go Away_.

"Take these in exchange," he said, a smile still tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"I told you I've already read them. Did you go hard of hearing in Starkhaven?"

"Not these. These are the ones they wouldn't publish. Why didn't you read them when I sent them to you?" he asked, and if she hadn't known better, Hawke would have said Sebastian sounded hurt.

"You never sent me any, you just published them to humiliate me. The whole city-state is talking about your book. I hope it makes you happy."

"I did send them, and I only ever cared that you read it. All of my letters were sent back unopened. Did you truly never get them?"

But who wouldn't give her the mail? Hawke usually had a bundle of letters that Bodahn put right on the front desk for her, and Bran did the same at the Keep. That she hadn't gotten any letters from Sebastian niggled at her, but Hawke just shook her head. She had to get him out of her room. He was smiling at her, his eyes were bright blue and fixed on her as he held out the loose sheaf of parchment. Hawke reached over, snatched the papers and glared at him.

She expected Sebastian to say something wry, make a joke or disapprove of her action, but instead he took the papers back and set them on her desk. He put her note on top, the one that had "Go Away" scrawled on it. He neatened the pile of them before stepped away, crossing over to where she stood by the fire. She was disarmed by his care, by the determination in that simple gesture.

"What do you want?" Hawke asked, but she no longer had it in her to be demanding or angry, just tired. She felt worn out by too many long days followed by sleepless nights. Even her friends didn't come by as often; they had fewer dinners at her house now that she was an official. She only saw Aveline regularly, and even that was mostly in passing. Hawke was tired, so tired.

He didn't answer her. Sebastian brushed some hair from her face with one of his calloused fingers, and Hawke sighed. He cupped her chin in his palm, turning her face up so he could look at her. For one second she thought he would kiss her, but he didn't, he just brushed the side of her face again with his rough fingertips. He seemed to be searching for an answer himself, ignoring the question she'd posed in favor of his own silent one.

"I went to Starkhaven to see my family. To convince them to free me from the Chantry so I could win your hand without pretense. They refused, but I realized that they have no say over me now. The Chantry here is gone and I never swore the vows of a Brother. I was just penned in by their money and Elthina's obligations to them," he said, and his voice was so soft she could feel the rumble of it as he spoke, but she strained to discern the words.

"I haven't been sleeping well," Hawke admitted, unsure of why she'd said that. Though she was confused by her own admission, Sebastian just nodded as if her words made the utmost sense in response to his.

They weren't touching, not since he'd dropped his hand from her face, but she felt like they should be. Hawke reached a hand out, to do what she wasn't sure, but she pulled it back before she touched him. He caught her hand, kissed it, and then she was kissing him again, like she had on the night she'd invited him to her bed.

His lips were soft and sweet, and made her feel she'd just inhaled fresh air when she hadn't realized she was suffocating. The kiss started almost chaste but soon morphed into something wilder, and when Hawke pushed her tongue into Sebastian's mouth surprising them both, she wondered if it was safe to ride this undercurrent. Sebastian responded to her demands, picking her up and taking her to the bed without breaking their kiss.

His hands were already working at her clothes, easily undoing the fastenings of her dress. It was pooling into loose folds of fabric around her middle as she slipped her shoulders from inside of it and Sebastian pushed up her skirts. His hands were roaming over her now, and they felt so good she almost lost herself in the tenderness of his caresses. Almost.

"I'm not going to marry you," Hawke said, pulling up short as Sebastian kissed her thigh. She shuddered.

"Lay down, Hawke. I'm not here to beg tonight. I'm helping you relax so you can sleep," Sebastian said, coming up from between her legs for long enough to meet her gaze. When she nodded, satisfied, he went back to kissing her. She felt his tongue beating a steady path over her smallclothes, fabric and wetness making friction against her most vulnerable parts. She let her head drop down to the bed, so she could just feel it all. His touch was so much more incendiary than her own. While Hawke knew how to make the furnace hot, Sebastian could effortlessly stoke it into a blaze. Like he was doing now.

He hadn't touched her without the barrier between her and his tongue and she could feel anticipation making her body hot, Sebastian's soft kisses lighting the fuse that went through her. In not long at all, it caught, and she was moaning incoherently as Sebastian slipped her smallclothes down her legs so he could taste her properly. Her own hands skimmed over her breasts, taking off her breastband and setting it aside so she could tease her nipples. The layers of her skirts kept her from seeing Sebastian as he worked, sucking and licking, teasing and kissing her pearl with just enough variation to make her get closer and closer until he backed off again. He teased her endlessly, and she lost count of how many times he didn't let her come, frustrating and tantalizing. Then he did it one last time, one more time than she could take and she climaxed so hard the world went white around her and she hadn't realized she'd clamped her legs around Sebastian's head until she came back to herself and forced her muscles to release, her breathing hot and wet and heavy.

Sebastian maneuvered her out of the dress fully now, careful as he lifted her hips and eased the gown off her. She thought he would leave now, but he got back into bed with her, kissed her forehead and let a hand drift down her body. He explored with a light touch, tweaking each of her nipples back to hardness, the rasp of a callous against her skin as his fingers skimmed over her stomach. He didn't make her wait, and when Sebastian dipped his head to kiss her, his fingers slipped inside of her. As a thumb brushed over her pearl, strumming it like a lute player coaxing out the last song of the night, she urged him deeper into their kiss. Her hand found the back of his neck and brought him closer, then tangled in the thickness of his hair.

This time it was slower, because of all his teasing before, but Hawke could feel it building inside of her just as surely. Sebastian must have known because he knew exactly how to touch her, what she needed right then. Did he remember from their night together or was this just a by-product of his acquired carnal knowledge? She wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer. When he broke their kiss to take his attentive mouth to suck on a nipple, Hawke knew it wouldn't be long for her again.

It broke over her harder than she expected for the second time, and her body clenched around his hand, her muffled scream caught by his lips at the last second. She bucked up against him, and only then realized he was still fully dressed, wearing the black silk he'd donned before stealing into the room that night. Her breasts pressed against the hardness of his silk covered chest and the sensation added something more to what her overstimulated body was already enjoying, an extra shudder of potent release.

When she caught her breath again, Hawke laid back on her bed, feeling sated and completely wrung out at the same time. Sebastian brought her hand to his lips and kissed it in a courtier's gesture. Her eyes were already closing but she forced them to focus on him.

"Aren't you going to take your clothes off?" she asked, but he shook his head.

"I need to leave. Get some rest. This is probably the one time I hope you don't dream of me, because I want you to fall into the dreamless deep."

"I should, well...thank you, Sebastian."

"Anytime, love."

Then Sebastian pulled the blanket up over her, and Hawke was too exhausted to argue. She might have said something ungrateful if she were fully in control of herself, or admitted that she'd needed exactly what he'd done for her right then. But she said nothing more, and she last glimpsed Sebastian climbing out the way he'd come in, silent as the grave before her heavy eyes dropped into place for the night.


	9. Chapter 9

He needed to do something for Hawke, and Sebastian wasn't quite sure how to go about it. He wished, not for the first time, that he'd gotten to know her better and sooner than he had. As he walked through town to the Hanged Man, he realized he had no real plan of approach, he just felt like he was doing the right thing.

He hoped he was doing the right thing.

The Hanged Man was filled with people, even at this late hour. He wished he'd gone to change his clothes, the black silk outfit he'd donned with the dual purpose of making it easier to break into Hawke's estate unseen and being stylishly seductive only made him stand out in the rougher crowd. He felt a hand trying for his purse within the first minute after he'd entered, and Sebastian deftly turned the fingers back, bending them until he heard a yip of pain and the owner of the hand pulled them away. Planning for the unexpected wasn't his strong suit, but Sebastian already knew that. He was here anyway, and ordered an ale so he could get on with his errand.

Varric was the easiest of Hawke's friends to find. He was holding court in his rooms, telling a story. This one didn't seem to be about Hawke, but Sebastian came at the very end of it so he wasn't sure. It very well could have been, but he wasn't actually listening that well. Instead, he watched Varric as he spoke, admiring how he lead the crowd. Sebastian didn't have the same gift, he wooed crowds by being overly generous with his coin and attention, but Varric had the enraptured just by the tales he told.

When it was done, Varric caught his eye, nodding in his direction. Once acknowledged, he could approach. Sebastian waited for the people asking questions to clear out, casually drawing closer with his tankard of ale.

"Choir Boy! What brings you down here with us Lowtown folk?" Varric asked.

"It's been a while, Varric. Can I get you another ale?"

"Now I know you want something, if you're buying. All right, get me another drink and we'll talk."

Sebastian walked out of the room, waved down Norah and paid for more drinks. He came back in and sat down as Varric studied him.

"If you're here for more help with books, I'm gonna have to decline this time. I don't want my publisher and the Viscountess angry with me," Varric told him, but Sebastian shook his head as he sat down.

"It's nothing like that, but it does concern Hawke. When was the last time you saw her?" Sebastian asked.

"About two weeks ago now. Stopped by her office before your book came out." Varric nodded at him, as if he'd just understood why Sebastian had come to see him. "I have to say, I'm not much of a poet myself, but some of your letters have potential there Choir Boy. A little polish and they might work. Though probably not on Hawke."

"Varric, I don't care about that. Well, I do, but not right now. Hawke is lonely. She needs her friends. She's crumbling under the weight of being Viscountess and I need you to step up."

Whatever Varric had been expecting him to say, that wasn't it. For once, Varric was caught off-guard and rendered speechless by Sebastian. He wasn't stupid enough to think that gave him the upper hand, but he did relish being able to surprise Varric. Sebastian got the feeling that it didn't happen often.

"You've seen her?"

"Yes, and I'm worried for her," Sebastian confirmed. "It's not easy and she told me she was having trouble sleeping."

"Shit. I thought she looked a little worn out last time I saw her, but honestly, I thought she was just annoyed with you."

"Me?" Sebastian asked, taken aback by this turn.

"You're pursuing her with this single-minded zealousness, and she's not used to that. She's annoyed. A little flattered too, but mostly annoyed." Varric shrugged at him as hope surged through Sebastian. "She's not a great poker player, and I saw her face when she first read your letters."

"Have dinner with her. Stop by more. I know that this can't be easy for any of you, but don't you miss her?" Sebastian asked. A wheedling note had entered his voice, and he realized he was begging Varric. Please, take care of her, because he couldn't do it all the time. She'd only let him do it this once because she was so vulnerable and he happened to catch her in the midst of it.

Sebastian had no illusions about what had passed between them that night. It had been lovely, but if Hawke wasn't under such pressure, he doubted she would have allowed him to pleasure her so. She was the protector of her friends, her city-state, and her family, but she didn't let anyone do the same for her, not normally. Hawke was impossibly strong, but still just one woman, and the crown was a heavy burden. It was exhausting her, and when he'd offered a little relief, she'd taken it with both hands. That she liked him more than she would admit soothed the sting of knowing that she'd needed more than wanted his pleasure.

Varric's gaze was hard as he sat there. Norah stopped in while they were sitting in silence, dropped two tankards between them and went out again. Sebastian busied himself taking a drink, waiting for Varric to talk.

"Shit," Varric repeated, and took a swig of his own drink. "Isabela's still out smuggling and sailing and Fenris just left with the mercenary group he does odd jobs with. Maybe I'll bust Bethany out of the Gallows of a night, and get Daisy to come by."

"Anyone would be good. She just needs to see you all again, I'm sure of it," Sebastian said, pleased with himself. "Just don't tell her I had anything to do with it. She'll be distrustful of it, and that defeats the purpose."

With their talk finished, Sebastian made to finish his drink quickly and go, taking a large gulp and then realizing better of it. The ale at the Hanged Man wasn't the kind that he needed to worry about leaving behind, so he got up and left his half-empty tankard on the stone table. He stretched, checked his purse and was getting ready to make his goodbyes when Varric spoke.

"I hate to admit it, but you really do love her, don't you?" he asked.

"This has nothing to do with how I feel about her. She just needs her friends right now, some more support. Everything I could do for her would be suspect since my motivation is not to be just a friend," Sebastian said. He wasn't going to tell Varric he loved her, admitting it to his mother had been enough.

"But you do care for her at the very least, Choir Boy, and that makes all the difference here," Varric said. Sebastian didn't answer as he left. In the morning he'd stop by Merrill's house and suggest to her that she visit Hawke. And he could enlist the Guard-Captain to have a working lunch with her. Something, anything, if it would help. Hawke needed her friends, and if they couldn't see that, he'd make them see it.

#

Hawke was having an unexpectedly nice lunch with Aveline in the Viscount's Gardens when she learned that Isabela's ship was sighted at the docks again. That news brought a smile to her face and a heavy sigh from Aveline, though she too would benefit from the goods that Isabela had acquired for Kirkwall. It wasn't the best solution by far, but Kirkwall needed so much and many of the more salubrious shippers and merchants were avoiding Kirkwall. After the Qunari attack and the destruction of the Chantry, quite a few had decided to quit the city altogether for safe ports. Hawke didn't really blame them.

But she was glad to hear of Isabela's impending return to the city and enjoying her lunch with Aveline. They talked mostly business, but it was good to get out of the office and enjoy the feeling that they were doing something more casual. Hawke couldn't remember the last time she'd felt the sun on her face during the day.

"How's Bethany?" Aveline asked, and Hawke grinned as she answered.

"She seems fine from her last letter. I'm going do to visit her tomorrow. I know she had the chance to go, but I'm glad she stayed. I don't know how I would manage all of this while worrying about her on the run," Hawke said.

"She's capable and resourceful, and better trained than ever. I am sure she would have been fine, but you're right, it's good that she decided to stick around."

Hawke looked away from Aveline, out towards the horizon. The Gallows and what to do with the Circle was still a huge problem for her, even without Meredith. Cullen and the templars were still there, and most of the Chantry had gone to their armed servants to find succor. It was hard for mages living there to feel safe, and she didn't blame them. Would if she could make the Circle voluntary education for mages, but the Chantry would depose her immediately if she suggested it. For now, Hawke was offering the best she could, letting mages know that they could come back and be safe if they had no homes to go to after the fighting, but safe was a relative word. Structurally sound place to live was a pretty meager offering for the mages, and she knew it.

Maker, she was so afraid of a misstep when it came to the mages that it bound her hands. It was another thing that reminded her how inept she was at her job, how unprepared, but Hawke tried not to let it show on her face. She was glad for the company of Aveline, however brief, and her friends had started coming around more lately. She was glad of that, she'd thought being Viscountess might have scared them away for good. Varric must have said something after his last visit, because they were all dropping in on her now. It was almost like old times.

"What's going on in Lowtown? I saw a large patrol go out that way this morning?" Hawke asked, changing the subject. Lowtown wasn't the hardest hit part of Kirkwall structurally, but that was where the many people fled when the buildings came down in Hightown. There had been some damage to it, shoddily made buildings crumbling and decaying faster in the aftershocks, but Hawke already had people working to fix them. It was a long and complicated process to go into people's homes and tell them that it wasn't safe, so repairs were going slowly there.

"We're trying to keep the seneschal's tax collector safe," Aveline said dryly, her face puckering as if she'd sucked on a lemon.

"Maker, well, good luck. The city needs money, and yet I sympathize with the people that don't want to pay. It's not as if things are very good right now. I have at least three agreements on my desk right now for aid, and I should respond to Starkhaven by the end of the day."

"Speaking of Starkhaven, how's your admirer? Can I arrest him yet?" Aveline asked, giving Hawke a look that said she was very serious about wanting to arrest Sebastian. Hawke suspected that she and Donnic had talked about the situation, since he'd been the one to break it to her about Sebastian's love songs.

Sebastian had been coming to see her too, but always under cover of darkness like he had the first time he came through her window. He hadn't tried to sleep with her again, although she had asked a time or two. Maddeningly, he was sticking to the line that he wouldn't sleep with her until she loved him, which made her think he was more stubborn than serious. They weren't quite friends, but he was the closest thing she'd had to a lover since she'd left Ferelden. The last time he'd visited her it was three nights ago, and she'd been cuddled up to her waterbottle, trying to chase away the pain from her monthly courses. He'd distracted her; he taught her how to play Diamondback properly, so now she might even be able to keep up with Varric and her dog.

Sebastian made her feel all mixed up, because she never knew what was real with him. He wanted to be a prince once more, not a man of the Chantry, that was true, but he also wanted to be hers -- her friend and her lover. Even if had started out as an act, she felt like it was growing into the truth, if it wasn't there already. Part of her wanted to believe in the man that wrote her love songs and came through her window just to keep her company, but another part of her was too much of a realist to get swept up in the romance he was creating. Hawke sighed, and tried not to think of the love letters as she tried to make a reply to Aveline.

 _Those letters._ The ones they wouldn't publish weren't because they were dirty, as she'd expected, but because they exposed him. Sebastian had put his heart onto the page and was honest in a way he wasn't in person. They were so raw that it made her feel like a voyeur to his innermost thoughts to read them and they were about _her_. There was a quality to them so personal it made her feel wrong to read the words and not hear him say them to her.

She was wavering, Hawke knew it, and yet she couldn't let herself believe yet. She'd seen the nobility of Kirkwall, saw how they put dogged determination into marriages, alliances and revenge. This wasn't out of character for these Marcher nobles. They were far more passionate and inflammatory than their Fereldan counterparts.

"Don't arrest him yet," Hawke managed to reply, giving Aveline a tight smile. "I want to know what else he has to say."

"Be careful, Hawke. You know better than I the games the powerful play," Aveline said, giving her a measuring look.

Hawke did know, but she also knew how much of a risk it was for Sebastian to keep playing them. The longer this went on, the higher the stakes got, and the more likely it was that he was truly in love with her or too stubborn and proud to quit. She hoped it was the former and feared the latter.


	10. Chapter 10

Kirkwall suffered without Hawke there to do the work no one else wanted to do. The streets had always been safer since she’d come to Kirkwall, desperate enough to do a job that even the guards didn’t dare to do. Now that she was safely in the Keep, those that feared meeting the end of her blades were back on the streets. Sebastian knew this, and yet he couldn’t fault Hawke for moving on to being the Viscountess. What were a few bandits when she was making deals to keep people from starving to death?

She’d been doing a very good job with it recently. When he came to visit her at night, it was a nightly occurrence now between them, she told him about it. She told him everything she did in her days, all that she hoped to achieve for herself and the city. Hawke did more than just tell him -- she made him believe that she could. That was the real gift Hawke had, if she said it, she did it, and she made believers out of skeptics. Sebastian listened when she told him what she wanted to achieve and how she wanted to do it, and offered what little help he could from his own meager training to rule. Hawke even told him that she missed doing more good than just signing the right papers. But she was doing an admirable job with the papers, trade and agreements recently, if he did say so himself.

But tonight it wasn’t about listening and offering his opinion or observations, tonight Sebastian had other plans. He rang the bell, he made sure everyone knew he was there. Fenris came along with him and Merrill met them at Hawke’s estate. There was trouble at the docks, and so long as the Viscountess didn’t make it known what she was doing, he thought she might enjoy a chance to take a more active hand.

“What are you doing here?” Hawke asked, upon finally being coaxed from her bedroom to find him, Fenris and Merrill waiting for her.

“Hawke, I thought you might appreciate the chance to see me in a more dashing light,” Sebastian said, and then laughed at his own joke. “Or take out some aggression busting up a meeting that shouldn’t take place.”

“Who’s at this meeting?” she asked, and it was Fenris that answered.

“Slavers looking to gain a new foothold here in Kirkwall, since there are so many displaced.”

“These people have been in the alienage, Hawke,” Merrill added darkly. “I’ve heard of people getting a lot of money these past few days, like they’re leading others to capture. I could stop some of them on my own, but Fenris agreed to help, and Sebastian said we should get you.”

“We can shut them down. Let me get my armor on,” Hawke answered immediately, gaining a rare smile from Fenris.

She took the stairs two at a time to go up them, but he saw her turn back and throw him a glance when she got to the top. Hawke was back in less than ten minutes, armed and armored. They were out of the estate and down to the docks in record time, Fenris and Merrill bickering all the while. The only thing they seemed to agree on was that these slavers and everyone helping them should be put out of business. Sebastian didn’t pay attention to them, save for knowing they were still behind him because of their conversation and the pointed silence afterwards. His attention was for Hawke, who despite his care, still had large shadows under her eyes and looked too thin.

“What’s bothering you?” he asked in a low voice as they carefully rounded yet another corner. This city was so full of twists and turns it was a wonder people could find their way out of it.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked, and he shook his head.

“That should be obvious.”

“No, I meant why did you bring it to me?” she clarified.

“Because Merrill wasn’t sure if she could anymore, and I told her that you make this city safe. Not only do people need the reminder of how you came to be Champion, but you look like you need to hit something, or someone, and I’d rather it not be me,” Sebastian said, and then added, “Plus, I look quite handsome in black leather.”

Hawke cocked her head to the side, as if assessing him through narrowed eyes. He felt the smile she wasn’t giving him, but if she were about to say something, the moment was lost. He too heard the first sign that they weren’t alone in the night and fell into his fighting stance without thought. Later, he’d talk to her, after she’d done what they came here to do. Maybe much later, when he took her home, he’d take the opportunity to gloat over criminal scum vanquished and people saved as he kissed the girl that made it happen.

#

Maker, she was falling in love with him and Hawke really didn’t want to love Sebastian.

She took out her frustration on a dirt clod, breaking it up into smaller pieces until the hard packed cluster fell apart into something usable. The Chantry gardens couldn’t be in the same fertile spot it had once occupied, and she was helping them dig out the new gardens. Though the Chantry could do it on their own, she wanted to help -- the garden would bring some needed agriculture and jobs back to Kirkwall -- and feed the overwhelmingly hungry population. No one had an abundance of food right now, not even the nobles. The old garden had been a large plot behind the building, and was currently filled with rubble from the explosion.

They were digging out the new plot near where the Chantry was to be rebuilt, still in Hightown, though it would be smaller this time around. There were simply a lot less people in the Chantry here, much fewer to house and who were available to live in this new home for Andraste’s faithful. Hawke looked up from her work to see Sebastian engaged in similar excavation as he bent to shovel another load of dirt. The soil here wasn’t ideal, and the farmer in her was already devising a plan to make it more amenable to the plantings they needed.

Anything to keep her mind off the way Sebastian looked right then, with a lock of hair flopping onto his forehead, and his fine lawn shirt sticking to him with sweat. This was hard, rigorous work and yet she couldn’t help but wonder how his rough hands would feel on her skin as he gathered her up and kissed her tonight.

He would kiss her tonight; he kissed her every night. She had only herself to blame for that. A simple no would have ended his flirtation, but she hadn’t ever uttered it. Hawke let him go on acting as her secret admirer in public and declaring his love in private, because she’d wanted to know. She truly wanted to see if someone like Sebastian, obscenely rich and titled and spoiled and so handsome, would want her for more than what she could help him achieve. These past few weeks she’d learned his truth -- he loved her.

And Maker help her stupid, stupid soul, she loved him too.

The gardens needed a fair amount of work to get to completion, but she only had spare time for a few hours that afternoon. She had work to do, sent from the very disapproving Bran as she’d declared she was going to help in the garden. He’d only let her go if she promised to tackle a load of paperwork from home, and she couldn’t work herself to exhaustion if she needed to read through everything. Hawke told her fertilizer ideas to Mother Padma, who was in charge of this project. Sebastian came up in the middle of her explanation, perhaps sensing that she needed to leave, and offered her his arm when she turned to go.

“Prince Sebastian,” Hawke said, greeting him formally as she almost never did these days. He wasn’t quite as sweaty as he’d been when she’d looked over at him, but his hair still flopped forward in a rare moment of dishevelment. It was beguiling, and she nearly cursed aloud to herself for thinking so.

“Your Excellency. May I?” he asked, and Hawke nodded at him.

“Of course, I wanted to speak with you at any rate,” she said as she threaded her arm through the solid bulk of his. Here he was again, the man that was more like the one that had sung the Chant for so many funerals in Kirkwall that his voice went hoarse, the one that made bread in her kitchen and as of late, fought slavers on the docks. She liked this man so much, especially since she could see that the garden had left dirt across his cheeks and under his nails.

“Oh?” he asked lightly, but his interest was nearly palpable.

“I thought you could show me how to use a bow and arrow. I’ve admired your skill as an archer since we met, and I wondered if you’d be amenable to teaching.”

There was a silence she hadn’t been expecting as they walked, one where Sebastian didn’t even look at her and she was forced to keep plodding on. Had she misstepped? Did he not want to teach her? Or maybe it was something else entirely, like the fact that teaching her gave him a reason to come over and not through her window?

“I’d be honored, my lady,” Sebastian said gravely, his voice a little deeper than usual. “When should we take up these lessons?”

“As soon as you’re able, Your Highness. Unlike the plot where we worked today, my private gardens are clear and would be ideal for us to use. If you don’t mind coming to my estate during the evenings. I’m afraid it will have to be then, for Keep business takes up most of my daytime,” Hawke said. What she really wanted to say was, ‘ _Agree to court me, you idiot, so I can finally dance with just you at these stupid parties we have to attend.’_ But she didn’t say it, though she hoped he picked up on it.

“Hawke, are you sure?” he asked in an undertone, so quiet that she almost missed his words.

“Yes. Come tonight for dinner,” she answered in a whisper. “I have to see you for more than an hour at bedtime.”

“I’ll be of no use tonight,” he admitted. “The gardening so far hasn’t been easy.”

“Come anyway, I can still feed you,” she said, and stepped away from him as they reached her door.

“Everyone will start to suspect,” he said.

“Isn’t that what you wanted with the songs and the book? Does it matter? It’s what I want, and what I thought you wanted.”

He looked at her then, meeting her gaze without difficulty. Oh, the desire was there within him but he was unsure in this last moment if he should take what she so readily offered. Sebastian worried that the love wasn’t there, despite the fact that he’d been telling her how he felt for weeks now. But his gentleness and selflessness had broken down some of the walls she’d built up after seeing that note of his, her resistance crumbling further with his continued nightly visits.

“Please, Sebastian,” she said.

“Hawke,” he said. It was almost a question, her name, but it was also a benediction. A prayer for the lost and found captured in the hushed tones of his hope.

How long they stood there together on the precipice of her house, she didn’t know, but it was only moments for her. Hawke waited, and Sebastian deliberated, and they were frozen there together. Then Sebastian smiled the truest and warmest smile she’d ever seen cross his face. He was always handsome, but he was rarely so beautiful as he was right then. He’d let his heart unfold in front of her for weeks and now had her acceptance. It was more than acceptance, a love that Hawke hadn’t realized was growing in her heart until recently, but now that she’d nurtured it she was ready to give it back to Sebastian.

“Dinner, then,” he said, and he was still smiling as he brought her hand to his lips to kiss. He barely brushed a kiss across the top of her dirty hand, but she felt it as if he’d left an imprint on her skin.

She was watching him walk away, when Sebastian turned to call out to her.

“Hawke!”

“Sebastian!”

“Don’t forget your bow,” he said with a wave, before she lost sight of him.


	11. Chapter 11

Summer in the southern Free Marches seemed to end too soon to Sebastian. Every year he was taken by surprise when the nights changed from their velvety humidity to the coolness that marked the onset of autumn. Here it was, that time of year, and he hadn’t realized the boon that it had given him. The nights grew darker sooner, and he had been making use of it for the past few weeks to visit Hawke at night, unthinking that cooler weather and the inevitable rain would start to put an end to his nightly visits.

Perhaps that was what inspired her to come up with the plan for him to teach her archery. Or maybe it had nothing to do with learning at all, it was all just pretense. It was silly of him to hope that Hawke would actually want to practice with a bow, but Sebastian had it with him anyway as he rang her bell. They would have dinner and hopefully he wouldn’t ruin anything that came after. What that would be, he wasn’t sure but he had a lot of hope for it.

That hope was enough to buoy him out of his extreme fatigue, despite a quick nap when he went home. The Chantry garden still wasn’t anywhere near complete, but he’d exhausted himself working on it today. With as many times as he’d been banished to work in them before the explosion, he had a good knowledge of what they needed and what could be easily tended in Kirkwall. Not all of the faithful enjoyed taking an active hand in the sustaining of the garden, but they all needed to be responsible for it now. The diminished numbers of the acolytes, Maker, so many people were gone, meant that they needed everyone to help. Even him, though Sebastian moved further from his former life in the Chantry everyday.

When Bodahn let him into Hawke’s estate that evening, he led Sebastian to the courtyard. So she was sincere about wanting to practice archery, and somehow that made Sebastian feel better about this whole venture. She’d been serious about wanting to see him, not just luring him here to sleep with her. As much as he wanted her, he was wary of having just a physical relationship. He wanted more, and apparently, so did Hawke. She was armored and ready for lessons, and even had a target put up at the end of her courtyard. She wasn’t working with her bow, however, though he saw it sitting nearby, Hawke was doing something with what looked like a large amount of seeds.

“Hi,” she called out when she heard him coming closer. “I’m almost finished.”

“What are you doing, love?” Sebastian asked.

“Drying out apple seeds, or rather laying them out so Orana can put them in the kitchen to dry. We peeled quite a few of the early apples today, for baking. I hope you like pie,” she said and smiled up at him.

“I adore apple pie.” _I adore you._ “Why are you doing that out here?” he asked.

“Well, I’m taking up a lot of room, and she’s making dinner. Plus, I have to keep the seed varieties separate. You need to plant two varieties to get them to grow because they need each other to pollinate correctly,” Hawke said, standing up. She motioned to her left, “This is one kind of seed while that,” she pointed behind her to the right, “is the other.”

“What are they for?” Sebastian asked. Apple trees would be too big for the Chantry garden they were working in today.

“I’m starting saplings. I did it when I moved into the estate with Mother. Those,” she pointed across the courtyard to where a set of hearty trees were growing surrounded by a bed of straw, “are my tiny trees. They’re not going to get much taller than you are, but they’re already producing. I thought that if I could do it again here, it might go some way to ensuring Kirkwall has a more prosperous future. Once I start the saplings, I can give them away if people know how to care for them.”

“That’s actually a very good idea,” he said softly, turning back to look at her tree once more. He was vaguely aware that his Starkhaven had come out; he’d said _verra_ instead of very, and Hawke was grinning at him when he came back to her. His accent was always more pronounced when he was trying to impress someone, he just hadn’t realized how much he’d wanted to impress Hawke until that moment. He desperately wanted this to be the beginning of their future, not Hawke further trying to push him into a role other than the one he wanted by her side.

“Help me take them back to the kitchen. I cleared space for them to dry out on the shelves earlier. Take that one,” she said, pointed at the tray to her left. He picked it up, but Hawke seemed reluctant to go to the kitchen, so he waited.

“Are you always going to be like this? The way you’ve been for the past few months?” she asked. Seeing his bemused look, she clarified, “Sweet. Willing to help, not just me, but everyone in Kirkwall. Are you the man who made bread in my kitchen or the one who bought me the drinks at the Hanged Man?” she asked.

He remembered that night, the one where Isabela had been angling herself attractively all night and Hawke had given him shy smiles, and he’d bought her that last drink. Before he’d gone to the Chantry he’d always bought all the drinks, been the charming rogue, if not with real charm, then with generosity. That night he’d flirted with her, and while he hadn’t been faking his attraction to her, he had to be honest with himself: if he hadn’t been told to find a wife, he wouldn’t have been there trying so hard to act on their mutual attraction. Sebastian likely would have gone with her to fight, lent his bow where he could, perhaps even tried his luck with her or Isabela, but he wouldn’t have fallen in love. He wouldn’t have taken the time to know her, or had any reason to try.

She wanted to know what man he would be for her, if he would be the indolent, self-entitled prince of a brother he was in the Chantry when they’d met, or the one that had poured his heart out to her in song and love letters. It might have hurt that she voiced confusion about him, but Sebastian was canny enough to know that her question was because she’d already come to a conclusion and wanted to gauge how it would be received.

“I can’t say for certain,” he told her honestly. “I don’t think I could ever be as I was again, before, _everything_. Even in the Chantry, Lowtown was only for the heartiest of us, and Darktown was all but forbidden to us. I chose to not to know the worst of the suffering, but a man that’s pulled bodies from burning rubble doesn’t have that choice anymore, does he? I don’t want to be the man that made that list, the one that upset you so, but I was. Though it was never maliciousness but my own self-centeredness that caused me to do so. I was never an evil man, but I never felt like a good one until I met you.”

“I love you,” she blurted, and the sound of it was almost too loud and jumbled, as if she couldn’t physically hold it in her mouth any longer than she had. “I want to plant apple trees with you and in a decade I want to hand you the first fruit.”

“That’s the most Fereldan proposal I’ve ever heard in my life,” Sebastian said, chuckling, and Hawke laughed too, the sound thick with tears. “Don’t cry, Hawke, think of the seeds.”

“I suppose I am proposing, but it’s not so unusual, is it? You’ve asked me to marry you loads of times, almost every night you’ve come to see me. I guess I’m just returning the favor,” she said, giving him a bright grin. Then, before he could say anything more, she took her seeds and started towards the door that led to the kitchen. He watched her for a moment, dazed, before hastening to follow behind her.

She’d said the words he’d been waiting to hear: I love you. She’d said them as if she couldn’t bear to not tell him any longer, and that made love blossom in his chest like a flower opening towards the sun. Hawke had admitted it with all the brash honesty and sincerity she brought to everything she did, including now, loving him. Perhaps she had ran after she said it, but not because she didn’t mean it. She was overwhelmed with it, exactly the way he’d felt when he’d been sitting in this mansion, her house, watching her trying to put Kirkwall back together again. He’d watched her not sleep and come home covered in blood that wasn’t hers and still be tender and kind to her household and those of the Chantry that had drifted in and out of here because they’d needed her to be their hope in the dark days. He watched her and felt like he couldn’t breathe, because he’d fallen in love with her and had no idea how to say or what to do about it, and he’d known then that he’d love her forever.

“Hawke,” Sebastian said as he came into the kitchen. She was standing near her cleared wooden shelf, the same one he’d used to store his bread for the rise when he’d been baking in her kitchens. She was rearranging her seeds into one layer. He went over to her and lowered his voice, suddenly sure of the right thing to say, the words clear as the diamond twinkle of the stars on a moonless night. “I love you with all my heart. I’d give up everything for you, neither prince nor brother, just Sebastian. I’d be just yours, without hesitation.”

She took his tray from him, and it clattered against the shelf as she carelessly put it next to the other. In seconds, she had her arms around him and was hugging him with a grip so fierce Sebastian felt himself wheeze. Maker, he’d forgotten how strong Hawke was. He returned it with a hug just as tight, one that lifted her feet off the ground, letting him spin her around until they were both laughing and dizzy.

“I just wanted to see, for you to make me know that you were sincere about everything, about it all. I’m babbling, aren’t I? Let’s go back outside for practice before dinner. Then,” she stopped suddenly, looking up at him through her lashes, “will you stay? Not in my bed if you don’t want, but like before. I always sleep better when you’re in the house with me.” That tiny truth, she felt more at ease when he was there made him stand taller, prouder. Even as full as his heart was, it expanded to let more love for her in.

“Anything, love, anything you want. If we really are going to practice, then I have gifts for you. I wasn’t sure,” he admitted, laughing.

“I always want to learn, Sebastian,” she said, grinning up from his embrace. “You should know that if we’re going to plant apple trees together.”

He kissed the end of her nose and let her go with some reluctance. Had he his way, he would take her upstairs and their dinner could wait on trays outside the door, but he appreciated what she was doing here too. “Curiosity makes you cute, lass. Go on out and get your bow ready.”

#

They really did have a practice session, though she knew Sebastian would be the first to admit that he kept it very basic and did a lot of hands on teaching. She wore the forearm guard and new gloves he gave her, and they practiced until the light grew too low. Hawke was decent for a beginner, and enthusiastically responded to his incentive kisses when she did well. More than just practice, she made him laugh, and they were able to talk here about the things they usually said when he went through her bedroom window. Not all of them, mind, but enough that when they went to dinner after thirty minutes of practice, they were in a full conversation already that went on over soup, the hearty lamb and roasted vegetables and the promised apple pie. She had to admit that for however long this camaraderie lasted between them, she would cherish it.

She hoped it lasted forever, even if their desire for one another proved fleeting. A husband as a friend and ally would always mean more than a handsome faithless man whom she lusted after but can’t rely upon. Then again, Hawke could admit that if their desire could be doused, she would be disappointed. Sleeping with Sebastian was the kind of thing that could make her shiver with just the memory of it, enough to warm her on the coldest night. Had they a Chantry to pray in, her whole body would blush upon entry if she had to confess their affair.

“Mistress, there’s another pie, and apple turnovers as well. If it pleases you, I will combine the last apples with carrots to make cake,” Orana said as she served them dessert.

“Yes, by all means. Thank you for your help, Orana. I didn’t mean to burden you with extra work,” Hawke said, but Orana shook her blonde head furiously.

“I never meant to complain, mistress. I enjoy the baking. Does His Highness require more?” she asked.

“Thank you. I may just finish this pie,” Sebastian said, smiling at her. Orana departed with the empty dishes, leaving them behind in the candlelit privacy of her least formal dining room. She’d shed her armor before they ate dinner, changing into her clothes she normally wore around the house.

Around them there was a small fire, and a breeze from the window fluttered the curtains every now and then. The window looked out onto the courtyard where they’d practiced, and if she craned her neck she could see her apple tree. She and Sebastian sat at a round table with four chairs, across from each other while their plates and glasses now filled with dessert and a last bit of wine were between them. All through the meal, Sebastian’s stockinged feet her been playing with hers, until she set her foot atop both of his, stilling his flirtatious questing.

“Do you remember the other night we talked about the Starkhaven emissary? I wasn’t sure if it would be the ambassador or one of your brothers then, but I had confirmation from Bran this afternoon,” she told him. She’d been saving this for dinner, waiting until they were calmer and had said everything important. “It’s your father, the prince of Starkhaven. He’s coming to greet me as Viscountess tomorrow.”

“Well,” Sebastian said, looking up from his enthusiastic devouring of the pie. “I wasn’t expecting him to come all this way. Usually, he doesn’t stir himself to go anyplace but Orlais, and then only when the Chantry calls. If something has brought him here, it wasn’t you Hawke,” he finished, looking warily at her.

“I hadn’t really thought it was me. Did he say anything during your visit that make him come to see you?” she asked, but he shook his head.

“We didn’t speak much and he wasn’t inclined to hear my suit. When I left, our terms weren’t bad, but I made it clear I had no intention to stay in the Chantry. My year to find a wife isn’t yet up, and I’ve found one, so he can’t complain about that,” Sebastian said, smiling at her.

Hawke rose from her seat and went to sit next to him. She took his left hand in hers and cradled it for a moment, thinking. “What should I know before I speak with him. I won’t say a word of our engagement, but I had thought to post the banns soon. Should we wait?”

“Perhaps. It might be that tomorrow you don’t like me so much,” he said, still grinning at her. She huffed out an exasperated laugh before answering.

“If I hadn’t liked you so well before, I wouldn’t have let you flirt with me, and I certainly wouldn’t have let you stay.”

“So now you’ve decided that I’m true and that you love me too?” he asked. His tone was playful, but Hawke suspected that this mattered quite a bit to him, that he could easily be hurt if she said the wrong thing.

“No, it wasn’t a decision as such. I could no longer deny what had been growing for far longer than your love songs and letters knew, and I didn’t find a reason anymore. You kept offering me your heart, and even though I wouldn’t accept it, I never found it within myself to ask you to stop either. In the end there was only one conclusion that I could come to,” she said, but Sebastian finished for her.

“You want to plant trees with me.”

“More than trees,” she said, making him laugh.

“Not tonight, I think,” Sebastian said softly. “We did plant an actual garden, start some apple seeds, get you going with a bow and have an excellent dinner. I don’t know if I can rightly make it to the bed before I pass out.”

“Then you aren’t interested in a bath with me? That’s a shame, I had the water heated and everything,” Hawke said, getting up. “But I’ll think of you facedown in the featherbed as I bathe.”

“I never said I couldn’t muster the energy for something so relaxing,” Sebastian said, and his voice was little more than a purr. He ate the last bite of his pie and stood, offering his hand to her.

#

He wouldn’t say he was adept at knowing all the ways to please Hawke, but that night in the bathtub, Sebastian helped her find released quickly. Sitting against his chest with her legs draped over either side, he teased her under water until she pooled in his arms. But for himself he didn’t seek a climax, which was just as well because he truly was exhausted and tubs weren’t the best place for sporting antics.

If he had a mind to, he could make it work. Sebastian was creative, flexible and motivated, but it was an awful lot of trouble when he was already so physically exhausted. No, he was content to lay down next to her in bed, her silk sheets soft against his bare skin as Hawke curled into his side, once again fitting her back to his chest.

They slept soundly for hours, and had his bladder not called him into wakefulness he probably would have slumbered through the night. Hawke wasn’t sleeping when he returned from using the chamber pot, her eyes watching him as he got back into bed.

She didn’t speak, but then again, neither did he. When he was back in bed, she rolled towards him and he drew her into a kiss. He’d been expecting this, rather hoping for it when they got into bed straight from the bath and completely nude. Exhaustion had overtaken him then, but now his arms were full of a naked and somewhat rested Hawke that had told him she loved him earlier. Just thinking on it now with the press of her skin against his, did things to him, things Hawke could immediately feel. Her hand stroked low on his belly, grazing his groin as he moaned into their kiss.

It was leisurely this time, not like the marathon they’d performed their first time together. Sebastian got to tickle her skin, to taste more of it with his lips and tongue, to feel the subtle and soft movements that indicated her pleasure. He’d missed this with her, not that they hadn’t been doing some lovely things together in the past few weeks, but he loved it when they didn’t need to speak. Hawke’s hands reached out for him, one coming to rest on the back of his neck as they kissed, the other on his cock. It twitched in anticipation even though she was just holding it, her warm hand not moving at all.

“I love you, Sebastian Vael, you persistent menace,” Hawke whispered in his ear, making him laugh. If his heart could fill to bursting, it would have already done so. Sebastian kissed her chin and her neck softly, taking his time before answering.

“Hawke, I can’t give you anything but my heart, but it’s all yours forever,” he said softly. His truth was a whisper against her skin that ended in another kiss. As much as he meant the words, the sentiment was inadequate. He had no gift for poetry, which was why he’d written letters and not poems, but he loved her more than anything, more than himself or whatever future he might have as a prince of Starkhaven. Every breath belonged to her, and that thought filled him with light.

As he struggled to compose his feelings into a passable description, Hawke started moving the hand that had been resting on his cock. When she stroked him, the shambling wall of his coherent thoughts blissfully crumbled under her soft onslaught. Sebastian stopped making himself think and went back to kissing Hawke wherever he deemed her skin needed kissing. His lips traced trails up and down her neck, back to her lips before moving to her collarbone and the hard peaks of her breasts. Her nipples were at full attention as he licked first one and then the other, enjoying the gasp he drew from her as he teased them harder still with the point of his tongue before taking one into his mouth.

Sebastian thought he might tease her more, might let his fingers enjoy the thrust into the wetness between her legs as he kissed her, but he couldn’t. Hawke was touching herself, something she’d never done with him before, and he was slowly losing his mind. The brush of her knuckles against his hand alerted him and when he looked down and saw her fingers gleaming slick in the dim light of the dying fire as she worked between her legs, he almost came right then and there.

That would have been embarrassing, if wholly understandable.

He had to take matters out of her hands and into his own, if he wanted to last for more than three minutes. Capturing her hand, he brought her fingers to his mouth and kissed them, tasting the milky, earthy taste of her on them and then kissed his way down her. She was impatient for him, if he hadn’t known from what he’d interrupted, he would have known otherwise. She was practically broadcasting it by the way she was angling her body, the hunger that lined her kisses, the way her hands pulled at him, demanding. It was nice to wanted, and even better to be wanted by Hawke.

Hawke opened herself to him in an eager invitation, and Sebastian slid into her without more preliminaries. They moaned as one, the combined sound overloud in the quiet before dawn. When Sebastian moved after a moment of still reverence, she was holding tight to him as if she couldn’t let him go now. He kissed her once, catching her lips with hers as he started to gain speed in the rhythm. There was a groundswell building in her, one that she’d started with her fingers earlier, and now he tended. While he was inside of her, trying desperately not to lose himself, he focused on touching her, pleasuring her, so he could delay the last moment of his. When he came, this would be over, and his sore body would demand some more sleep before he could do this again.

Sebastian focused his attention on her, on rubbing her pearl into slick hardness as he slowed their rhythm. He kissed her in one long, trembling kiss as he worked. It didn’t take long, thank the Maker, because he was balancing on one forearm and that was rapidly starting to become a problem. Soon he felt her shiver beneath him and caught the rippling moan of her orgasm in his kiss. Repositioning as she was still flying, he let himself build into a quicker pace, gritting his teeth at the excruciating pleasure of her tightening around him as the waves passed through her.

He came with a roar not long after, this was never going to be a lengthy affair, but he was glad she’d come first. Sound was dimmed, his body tensed and then straightened and for a good minute, he felt like he was stuck in amber. Then his senses returned and Sebastian was exhausted. He rolled off Hawke and back onto his side of the bed, breathing hard. His hands were clumsy as he pulled her to him, but no matter how hard his heart was beating, he still wanted to touch her skin, to be with her.

“Can we do that again tomorrow night?” she asked, grinning at him as she rolled over. He nodded, trying to catch his breath.

“Every night. I’ll come back tomorrow with your engagement ring, and then no one can talk when I stay here,” he said.

“Oh, they’ll talk, but it really won’t be a scandal,” she said. “At least, not until we start doing some really interesting stuff in bed.”

He chuckled hoarsely and she curled into his side, grinning. If there was anything unexpected about the situation now, it was how in the world he’d found himself a bride that could make him laugh even when he was flat out exhausted and barely able to keep his eyes open. But he could stay up for Hawke, he would stay up all night with her and not regret a thing, even if he was just watching her sleep.

Luckily, she didn’t require any more feats of endurance that night. Still smiling, Hawke drew the blanket up around both of them and then let them drift back into the sleep they’d interrupted for each other.


	12. Chapter 12

The next afternoon, as luck would have it, she was meeting with the man that would soon be her father-in-law. As Hawke shook the hand of the Prince of Starkhaven, she suddenly understood so much more about Sebastian. His father was stiff, formal, and wore his authority like a cloak. It would be so natural to rebel against it, to want a life outside of the judgemental blue eyes that were trying to retain a distant sort of pleasantness as he sat down to talk to her. Those eyes looked so like Sebastian’s but also nothing at all like them at the same time, cool where his were full of mischief and laughter, assessing her whereas Sebastian’s appreciated.

This visit was just a formality; it was him acknowledging her as Viscountess more than him coming to talk about any aid Starkhaven might extend her. That was all handled and taken care of by the ministers and magistrates and Bran. This was showmanship. She wasn’t under any illusions that she’d ever see him again, even when she did marry Sebastian. Hopefully not then, it’s not as if father and son were close, and this man radiated cold instead of any kind of paternal warmth. The grip of his handshake nearly crushed her hand, and she was used to wielding a weapon. Hawke maintained her smile throughout, but in her mind she was already working out how to describe her throbbing fingers to Sebastian.

“Thank you for taking the time, Your Highness,” Hawke said, settling into her chair after the prince had seated himself.

“It is a pleasure to be here, Your Excellency. Kirkwall looks as though it is rebuilding itself well,” Prince Vael said.

“I’m pleased you think so,” Hawke said. “We’re working hard to help restore life to normal after the tragedy in Hightown.”

Her servants provided them with food and drink before either withdrawing or retreating to her side. There was no informality in this, despite the way they were trying to make it appear. This friendly visit was strained, though Kirkwall’s relationship with Starkhaven was not so fraught with tension. The prince of Starkhaven may not have had much use for her personally, but she sensed his respect for her work in Kirkwall. That was all she could really ask for, especially since Sebastian has specifically told her there was no pleasing the man.

They talked of many things, of trade and Kirkwall, of Starkhaven and the Circle of Magi. Prince Vael wasn’t a gambler -- he didn’t venture into any speculation about the future or what others may be thinking -- his pragmatic side had made him cautious and dour. He lacked the allure of his son, there was no wit or gracious smiles from this prince of Starkhaven. She didn’t try to charm him, Hawke had been warned off that route by Sebastian, but nor was she able to be too bold or demanding. She had to be diplomatic, sincere and sufficiently modest when she spoke of herself or her plans for Kirkwall. It wasn’t an overly difficult task, but it wore on her as the conversation went on.

Her mind wandered from time to time, looking at a face that was like Sebastian’s but so different. The similarities in their appearances were disconcerting. The imprint of Sebastian’s hands lingered on her, bracketing her hips, caressing her, parting her wet lips carefully with a calloused fingertip. As Prince Vael droned on in his lilting brogue that was far less inviting than Sebastian’s, she couldn’t help but slip into the more pleasant memories of the night before. Outwardly, she remained composed and engaged, but whenever her attention slipped, she could feel Sebastian all over her skin, tactile memories setting her aflame under her formal receiving gown.

“I regret that our visit is so short, Viscountess Hawke. It has been a most unexpected delight to speak with you. However, I have some business of my own to attend while I am here, but I look forward to coming back to see your progress in the future,” Prince Vael said, and for the first time in their conversation, she began to feel some hope that he meant what he was saying.

“We hope to impress you on a return visit, if we should be so lucky as to get a chance. I hope that your business is happy here in Kirkwall,” she said, standing up at the appointed time. Her audience was over.

Prince Vael also stood, but for the first time his cool demeanor broke and he looked annoyed. “I wish that it were, but it is merely more of a chore. My son Sebastian is to be married,” he said, and Hawke’s heart fluttered in her chest as she watched him. How could he have known already? They were waiting to post the banns. Sweat broke out on her forehead, and time slowed. She watched his face, waiting for anything to betray that he knew it was her all along. A scowl, a twitch of a smile, or maybe a grim congratulations, but none of that came.

“My felicitations,” she managed to say, the words coming out as almost a squeak, but Prince Vael only grunted.

“Thank you,” he said, amending the inelegant answer into something more worthy. “I hope he takes it well, but to tell the truth he’s never been up to scratch. It was a devil of a time negotiating it over the last two months, but he came to me in Starkhaven and said he wanted to marry, despite the pledge he was supposed to make to the Chantry. His mother convinced me though, soft-hearted woman.” He smiled here at the mention of his wife, and a measure of true warmth brightened his expression for the merest flicker of a moment before he went on. “But I must be off, I’m to collect my son and see him back to Starkhaven so this wedding can happen.”

“Oh,” Hawke said. It was all she could manage to get out. The panic that the prince somehow knew about her and Sebastian was replaced with real shock. Sebastian was engaged. He’d had no idea about this, she was certain, because he’d gone to Starkhaven to ask to marry _her_. His father had just gotten it wrong, hadn’t he?

She went through their farewells woodenly, trying to order her mind. There was no way she could warn Sebastian before his father got there, not if he went straight there. This wasn’t a man like the Orlesian ambassador, who stopped at the Pearl or the Antivan woman that never met a public house she didn’t want to visit. Prince Vael would go straight to his problem son and march him back to Starkhaven and out of her life to be wed to someone else. His father didn’t need Sebastian’s permission to wed, he could say the vow for him in front of Chantry Mother and it would be legally valid. He could make Sebastian marry someone that wasn’t her. The thought sent a jolt of panic through her that made her hands shake. After all this warring with her feelings, she might lose him.

Unless she could think of a way to stop this and not create an incident.

“Does your man know he’s affianced?” Bran asked after everyone was shooed from the room and he and Hawke were alone.

“He does, but only to me,” she answered. She wasn’t thinking when she answered, her mind spinning ahead. What was she going to do? Bran didn’t like her answer; it was too honest for him. He gave her a look so pointed it could have drawn blood.

“Then you must go intervene before he does something you both regret. By both I mean you personally and you as the ruler of Kirkwall,” Bran said, his stare unrelenting. She might have shrank from it, if the throes of her panic released her enough to form rational thought. So far it hadn’t, and she had to forcibly slow her breathing so she could concentrate on his words. Bran was right, she had to step up quickly and figure out how the fuck she was going to save their marriage before it got even started.

#

Sebastian was unexpectedly on his way to a funeral.

He was bursting with questions about the meeting with the Viscountess, and felt no small amount of pride that he’d be able to tell his father they were engaged. Perhaps he was overconfident that his love would make a favorable impression, but he thought his father would be most amenable after meeting her. Then he could tell him not only of his success in finding a wife, but of how much he cherished Hawke. Sebastian’s thoughts may have strayed a few times to the night before as he waited, but Hawke always distracted him in the best way.

His father called him to attend after his meeting with the Viscountess. When his father exited the Viscount’s Keep, it was to board a carriage with Sebastian already in it. Sebastian was invited to the Vael Family Kirkwall Retreat, as he was told it was called, attended by the guards and put in the carriage to wait for his father. That had been another surprise -- his family owned a house here. It was a modest, grey stone building with more than enough room for his mother and father, and their accompanying royal guards, but not generous enough for more than that. He wondered when they’d decided to buy a house in Kirkwall. They hadn’t owned it in the past, but he supposed they must have purchased or been given the property while he was in the Chantry, or perhaps because he was here in Kirkwall.

It didn’t matter to Sebastian much, he would hardly be allowed to live there. His mind was on how to break the news to his father that he had found a bride in the allotted time, and that Prince Vael had just met her. He was nervous as he waited, his hands sweating and foot tapping against the floor of the carriage in a rhythmless beat. When his father entered the carriage, he informed Sebastian they were going to Johane Harimann’s funeral, which was about to get underway. He hadn’t known Johane was dead. Truly he had been spending too much time wooing Hawke, if he had missed such an important death.

“It’s a pity, she was a friend of your mother’s, but the Maker works in mysterious ways,” his father said, after explaining that Lady Johane died the week prior. “Perhaps it’s for the best. Forgive me for saying so, but the whole family isn’t what they once were. Flora is a drunk, Brett is stupid and greedy, an unforgivable combination if you ask me, and Ruxton is depraved.”

“Ruxton Harimann’s a notorious prude!” Sebastian said with a laugh. “He always was.”

The look his father gave him disabused him of that notion. “There are several elven servants that will tell you otherwise. What a man does in his own home is his business, but forcing people to pleasure him or lose their livelihood is unconscionable. It’s heresy against the Maker and his children. Should be outlawed here as it is in Starkhaven, but your Viscountess barely has her legs under her yet,” Prince Vael said.

“I think Hawke does very well for the way the city was handed to her.” Sebastian searched his father’s face as he made the pronouncement, but Prince Vael wasn’t paying attention to him. His own train of thought was still on the Harimann family.

“Maker only knows what Johane was into during her last years. They say the money’s gone. Johane spent it all so unwisely, but if that was the only poor choice she’d made maybe I could forgive her. My men had a devil of a time with her.”

“Why would the Starkhaven royal guards be involved?” Sebastian asked, unsure he wanted to know the answer. His father fixed him with a hard look and then sighed through clenched teeth. He’d never had any patience for Sebastian, not even as a child, and it seemed he had less now.

“I suppose you have to know, since you are re-joining the family after your failure in the Chantry. Lady Johane was behind one of the more egregious assassination attempts on the family. Do you remember the Flint Mercenaries from a few years back? That was her handiwork. Her master plan,” his father snorted, “was to put Goran Vael on the throne. She was consorting with a demon, trying to take our seat, but she was too weak and her will was corrupted. Good thing for us, but it made her harder to kill.”

Sebastian tamped down the anger that surged at being called a failure. He was given a choice to change his life since the Chantry wasn’t for him, he hardly thought that made him a failure. His interest in the Harimann’s won out over his indignation. “That’s what happened to Lady Johane? She was a mage?”

His father grunted. “Don’t need to be a mage to be corrupted by demons, boy. Haven’t you learned that by now? Kirkwall’s veil is thin. Anyone here could be influenced, unless they’re a Seeker. All the more reason for you to come back to Starkhaven.”

“Back to Starkhaven? Why would I do that?” Sebastian said, alarmed. He was going to say more but the door opened. He hadn’t even noticed that the carriage had stopped, but his father was lumbering out of the carriage and to the ferry that would take them to the Gallows. Sebastian hastened to hurry up, worry furrowing his brow and pooling in his stomach.

Just when he wanted to talk to his father the most, that was when the man began to ignore him again, this time in favor of his guard-captain, who was telling him of the security at the Gallows. His next attempts to finish their conversation were ignored, because they were no longer held within the privacy of their own carriage. Sebastian waited and stewed throughout the entire service, joining into the singing by rote, saying the prayers that were burned onto his heart through their repeated performance. His father sent him an approving look during the service that nearly made Sebastian laugh. He wasn’t pious, he’d simply performed more funerals than his father had ever been to in his life.

Sebastian thought they might another chance to talk upon leaving, but his father dispatched him to speak to the remaining Harimann family members in his stead. “I need to have a word with the Knight-Captain here. Starkhaven hasn’t been without its own troubles in the Circle of Magi. We’ll have guests tonight, ones that I’m sure you’ll be eager to meet. Ronan will see you back.”

His father walked off without another word to him, over to where Cullen was waiting for him. Cullen shot Sebastian a supercilious look he didn’t quite understand, but Sebastian had no mind for the recriminations of the Knight-Captain. There was something in his father’s words and demeanor that worried him. Summarily dismissed and with no other chance to get clarification from his father, he went to pay his respects to Flora, Brett and Ruxton.

If he’d ever doubted his father’s words, the proof of Flora’s changed personality was manifestly visible. Her face was a giant red splotch, the telltale sign of long-term drinking. She was sober at the funeral, but her hands shook and she looked rimmed in red. The girl whom he’d once knew, warm and funny and always ready with some advice, looked like she’d been drowned in wine and hard times. Sebastian’s heart went out to her. Brett and Ruxton, however, got little of his sympathy, especially once he spied the elven servant hanging back from Ruxton. The man looked half-afraid and half in love every time he looked over at the new Lord Harimann.

Sebastian took the ferry back across to Kirkwall proper with no less than three guards on him. He didn’t think they were there for his protection, but rather to prevent him from escaping. The sun was low in the evening sky as they slowly sailed into it, and Sebastian had no idea what awaited him on the other side.


	13. Chapter 13

The Prince of Starhaven arrived shortly before his guests. Sebastian had been dressed and bade to wait in a room for everyone else, the chaperoning guards constantly at his side. He was certain now that he was being kept here, but he wasn’t sure why. Was his father that worried about his safety that he needed to hold Sebastian here? But that didn’t make sense, especially not with Johane Harimann dead. Perhaps that was why his father wanted him back in Starkhaven, the threat here hadn’t fully been contained.

The truth became clear as soon as his father arrived. The dinner party started, and it was just Sebastian, a man he didn’t know but was introduced as Lord Graves and his daughter, Lady Alexandra. Alexandra looked miserable, and Sebastian wondered what lie they’d told to get her to come to Kirkwall. Both his father and Lord Graves looked too pleased with themselves for Sebastian’s liking. Before he could decipher why his father had invited Graves for dinner, Sebastian had to tell him about Hawke. There was no chance to do so besides yelling across the table over the soup, so Sebastian, steaming, waited.

They ate in a strained group, with his father and Graves making most of the conversation. Lady Alexandra was very, very young, even younger than Sebastian had thought at first. Her makeup covered her spots, but she was barely finished being a teenager, and her limbs had the long, coltish look of someone that has grown a great deal in a short amount of time. Though Alexandra’s long dark hair and big eyes were attractive, she couldn’t be over eighteen years old, despite the vague accomplishments Graves kept saying she had. By the time the cheese tray came out, Sebastian was only grunting answers and Alexandra had gone from looking upset to terrified. He had to talk to his father alone, away from these strangers and explain before things got worse. Hawke would be waiting for him now, wondering why he hadn’t come back to the estate.

“Your Highness,” he began, but his father talked over him.

“You and the girl should get to know each other. It will make things easier tomorrow night.”

“What?” Sebastian asked, thrown off by the statement. “I don’t know what’s happening tomorrow night and I don’t care. I need to talk to you about getting married.”

His father gave him a perplexed look. “And so you shall. Come now boy, you can’t be nervous about it, given your past exploits. It’s good to settle down, even if it is daunting for you. This is what you wanted.”

Then his father slapped him on the back and called over his security guard. The truth of his father’s actions belied the hearty speech he’d just given. Sebastian wasn’t about to be shunted to the side again, not this time. “I’ve made arrangements to marry Hawke,” he said, and his father actually laughed.

“Right, I’ll alert Elthina's replacement. What’s in your head? Don’t answer, I don’t care. You’ll take Graves’ girl and be glad. The two of you should get to know each other, and I need to talk business. We shall both seal the deal, as it were,” he said and laughed. Sebastian felt sick, bilious anger rising in him as he stared at his father’s uncomprehending face.

“I am going to marry the Viscountess,” Sebastian said through gritted teeth.

Whether his father heard him and didn’t care or didn’t hear him at all, Sebastian didn’t know. What he did know was that he was manhandled into a bedroom, shouting his objections to his father’s back as he was carried off. The door slammed and locked behind him, only to open a few minutes later when Lady Alexandra was pushed inside. They both heard the key clicking in the lock again and exchanged fearful glances.

“I’d planned to come in here and tell you that I didn’t want to get married and would refuse, but you look like you had even less choice in this than I did,” Alexandra said. She was still standing near the door, though she’d turned from staring sullenly at it to lavishing her bleak look on Sebastian. When he didn’t say anything she asked, “Are you really going to marry the Viscountess of Kirkwall?”

“Yes. She consented last night, and I am actually very late in coming home to her.”

For some reason that made Alexandra smile grimly at him. “I thought you might just be making that up to stop your father. It’s not what he told my father at all.”

Sebastian went to sit on the bed, thoughtfully provided should the two of them want to make an awkward situation even worse. How had this gone so wrong? Had his father come to Kirkwall with a side plan of kidnapping him and forcing him into a marriage? It made a sick sort of sense from where he sat, marriage deals were just more contracts among the nobility. He had asked to be married, though at the time Sebastian had thought they knew he wanted to marry Hawke. Sebastian looked up at Alexandra, weary and miserable. He wasn’t sure what to say to her, but apparently, she had more questions for him.

“His Highness told my father you’d come to Starkhaven to ask for a bride. Why did you come back if you wanted to marry the Viscountess of another city. That was stupid.”

“I need his permission to marry,” Sebastian ground out, angry. “I can’t be a prince of Starkhaven and marry without it. I was trying to do things correctly. She, Hawke, deserves that from me after all I’ve messed up. No hiding, no lies.”

“I hope you get it. I don’t want to marry you, no offense, so you won’t get that from me.”

“You seem lovely, but I don’t want to marry you either.”

Alexandra snorted in a way that reminded him of Isabela. She objected being called lovely, but Sebastian didn’t care. He just needed to think, to find a way out of this. Alexandra wasn’t going to stop asking him questions long enough to let him figure a way out, it seemed.

“Why do you call her Hawke instead of by her first name?” Alexandra asked him.

“If I called her by her first name, would you know who I meant?”

“That’s fair. Do you ever use her name?”

“All the time. Plenty last night. Just not when I’m locked in a room with a total stranger.” He needed to save himself, and possibly Lady Alexandra, but he was damned if he knew how to do it. Twisting around on the bed, he took stock of the room. One window, and from the looks of it they were up too high to make the jump out without breaking a leg.

“Are you happy?” Alexandra asked, startling him out of his search.

“Yes,” he answered slowly, thinking about the question. “I wasn’t before, not in the Chantry. But I had a chance to become a better man, and I feel like I’ve become someone I can be proud of now. Being with Hawke is more than, well, it’s amazing.” He shrugged, not sure if he was explaining it right. “She’s more than amazing, but it’s better than just being in love. You know, she proposed to me last night?” he asked. His eyes had finally settled on Alexandra, who looked like she really was listening to his ramblings.

“She did? That’s sweet. I didn’t think you were serious when you started yelling, to be honest with you. It sounded like the type of thing someone says when they’re trying to make a desperate appeal. It’s a ‘Do you know who I am’ type of line. But I’m glad it’s true and that you’re happy. She seems nice. The Viscountess, I mean. How did you meet her?”

“She asked me to watch her back while she was patrolling the docks. She wasn’t Viscountess then, but she was Champion. I can’t regale you with tales of her youth, sorry to say,” he admitted, still looking around the room for a way out. He’d spent most of his life sneaking out and through the rules, it would be a shame if his father had finally caught on now.

“Did she actually do that? Patrol the city?”

Sebastian met Alexandra’s gaze and nodded. “She still does. Hawke is a hero several times over, Lady Alexandra. If she were anything less, she wouldn’t be a legend.”

He was aware that all his answers made it seem as if he worshipped Hawke, but it was just the truth. Her deeds had inspired his own, and countless others, and she would always be the better person for it. The questions seemed to stop there, but Sebastian was aware of her watching him like a Chantry Mother in charge of a schoolroom. He walked all around the room checking for trap doors or hidden spaces. There was nothing, not even dust under the bed when he moved it away from the wall.

There was little else in the room besides the oversized bed. A washbasin sat in one corner with a chamber pot, an armoire with exactly one hanging peg inside, a dresser that was empty of anything more than another blanket for the bed, and the extra wood for the fireplace. Sebastian looked around the room desperately, hoping he’d missed something but there was nothing in here that could help. Maybe he could strip the bed and climb out, especially since they had an extra blanket. He could do it, he certainly had before, but he didn’t want to leave Alexandra here.

“I’m escaping,” he said, starting to pull the covers from the bed. “But I’d hate to leave you here to face the anger of whoever finds out I’ve escaped. Do you want to come?” he asked, but Alexandra shook her head.

“Don’t you want to know who’s coming down the hall first?” she asked, and Sebastian blanched. He hadn’t heard anything until she pointed it out. There was someone heading right towards them, and they weren’t being quiet about it. There were several sets of feet in the hallway, but none of them sounded like they were wearing heavy armor. Not his father’s guards then.

“Sebastian?!” Hawke yelled and Sebastian felt a surge of emotion so fierce rise in him that he felt a little faint. She was rescuing him. She’d known he’d needed to be rescued.

“In here!” he shouted back at her.

“Get away from the door and stay well back,” Hawke yelled from the hallway, her muffled voice almost quiet in the room. Sebastian could have wept when he heard her, but he decided to save the waterworks for when she wasn’t about to blow open a door. He heard Dalish muttering and a swear, Merrill casting a spell, if he was correct.

There was a slick crunch and then the metal lock on the door went flying into the room, only stopping when it embedded itself into the wall. Ice crystals ringed it, making the iron look blue and radiate cold as it stuck oddly out of the plastered wall. Hawke pushed open the door, and he could see her dressed in leather armor, flanked by Isabela and Merrill, who still had her staff out.

“I could have picked it, you know,” Isabela grumbled.

“Takes too long,” Hawke answered. “Hi Sebastian, we need to go now before Aveline wears out her welcome as our distraction.” She walked across the room and embraced him briefly, stepping out of his grip to hand him a bow and a quiver full of arrows.

“Hawke, I’m not running from my father,” he said softly, taking the weapons she offered.”Leave if you must, but I’m going to find my father. No more running.”

“This is a full service rescue. You don’t have to run but we do need to go.”

“No,” he said, and kissed her cheek. He had a sudden thought of Fenris, though their situations were so vastly different. Still, he had said something similar before the Chantry blew up and his master wanted him back. The time for running was past. “Take Lady Alexandra and make sure she stays safe.”

“It’s actually just Alex,” Alex said, “And I’m not a lady or a lord. I’m just Alex.”

Sebastian turned to Alex and nodded. He might have asked why they didn’t say anything earlier, but there was nothing about being thrown in a locked room with a strange man that inspired trust, and Alex owed him nothing. “I apologize for my inadvertent mistake, Alex.” Before anyone else could speak, he’d grabbed Hawke around the waist and pulled her in for another kiss.

This kiss was also too short, though his fury lent it fire and he felt her tongue sweep against his in the short time they were connected. Sebastian was mostly over his urge to swoon, though he was certain Hawke inspired that urge in many people she rescued. Anger had replaced his awe, it was fueling his steps and pushing him towards a confrontation years in the making. He strode out of the room, intent on finding his father and ending this once and for all. He was still dressed for dinner, not battle, but he was armed and that was enough.

#

It took her awhile to find Sebastian and his father once she started looking for them. Hawke first went to the Gallows after she finished at the Keep, because Sebastian and his father had been on the way to a funeral for Johane Harimann. She didn’t find them there, but when she arrived to ask about their whereabouts, she met a stony-faced Knight-Commander Cullen. When she asked after Sebastian, Cullen gave her a hard look.

“If I may say so, it isn’t proper, Viscountess.”

“What isn’t Cullen? A prince kidnapping his own son? I quite agree,” Hawke said, being deliberately obtuse. She had a short fuse today, and the feeling that he was about to piss her right off.

“I meant Brother Sebastian’s behavior. I am aware that he had intentions towards you, and that you may have surrendered to them, but he is bound by his oaths to the Chantry,” Cullen began, but Hawke had heard enough. She rounded on him, about to tell him to mind his own damn business, when something in her brain clunked into place.

“When he was living here, did you stop his mail?” she asked, and her voice was whisper soft and more dangerous than a field of landmines.

“As a sworn brother, it was inappropriate for him to write to you,” Cullen began, but whatever sanctimonious little excuse he was going to add was lost in the resounding sound of a CRACK! Hawke smacked him across the face so hard his head snapped to the side. A tear trickled out of his nearest eye, her fingertips must have caught the corner of it. Cullen looked absolutely shocked, as if he hadn’t remembered that Hawke was actually dangerous. He wouldn't forget now. She left a red, angry handprint that probably stung like hell. She couldn’t find it in her to care.

“How _dare_ you,” she began, but turned away from him. Hawke filled her lungs with deep, steadying breaths, pushing her absolute rage down. It was one of the first times in her life that she was actually seeing red, her vision so clouded by anger that it felt like everything was washed in a haze of blood. “Knight-Commander, I need to know where the Prince of Starkhaven and his son, _Prince_ Sebastian went when they left the Gallows. If you cannot help me find them, know that without the direct intervention of the Maker, you will not stand in my way.”

He could only provide her with the assurance that they left the Gallows and returned to Hightown. When Hawke left, she didn’t bother thanking him for his help. Let Sebastian forgive him if he so wanted, she wasn’t in the mood.

Back in Hightown, she was able to find the Vael estate with little trouble, and ascertained that Sebastian was in fact, inside of it. The problem was how she was going to get him out without causing a diplomatic incident. When she’d sent a runner to the Hanged Man, Isabela and Merrill had come to answer her call for aid, and Aveline came down from the Keep. They all stood with her outside, making a plan.

“I can’t have the guard storm in,” Aveline was saying but no one paid her much mind. She was just filling the silence between them, as Isabela looked for a way to sneak in.

“How about the drains?” Hawke asked, but Bela shook her head.

“No go. Not for getting him out at least. Could do with a layout plan of the place,” she said, but Hawke shook her head.

“He didn’t have to file one with the Viscounty during the renovations because he’s visiting royalty,” Hawke said, and Aveline scowled.

“Let’s just go in the front. Aveline can take some guards and we’ll go in after her,” Merrill said, but Aveline sighed.

“I just told you that I can’t. That would make a personal matter into an official one.”

“What if it was official?” Hawke asked, and grinned. “If there was a threat to the Prince of Starkhaven that the Guard-Captain had to warn him about. Say people breaking into his residence right then?”

When Isabela and Merrill grinned at her and Aveline frowned, Hawke knew they had a plan. Once inside, Aveline acted as distraction and they were able to find Sebastian. A guard fell prey to Isabela’s interrogation willingly, and gave them directions to where Sebastian and his soon to be bride were locked in. Hawke had hoped it would be a simple plan of get in and out before anyone downstairs was the wiser, but Sebastian had different ideas.

“I’m going to find my father,” he told her. “No more running.”

Sebastian was working off pure fury, and as much as she didn’t want to get into something that might have ramifications on her formerly warmish relations with Starkhaven, she couldn’t let him go into this alone either. As he walked down the hall, she matched him step for step until they got to the stairs. He didn’t know where he was going and hesitated briefly on the next landing.

“To the right,” she supplied, and he gave her curt nod before striding off in that direction.

What happened next happened so quickly, Hawke had to take time to put it together afterwards. Aveline was heading out of the room, and Sebastian pushed by her to get in. She went to stand in front of Hawke, making sure the Viscountess was protected first and foremost. A lot of yelling began all at once, Sebastian taking to task both his father and someone called Lord Graves, whom she assumed was the father of Alex from upstairs.

Then all hell broke loose.

When his father’s guards tried to approach Sebastian, he began shooting them. He shot his father, pinning him to the wall with one arrow until Prince Vael called the guards off. Lord Graves started yelling about his rights and when both Sebastian and his father told him to shut up, began crying. Aveline was actively holding her back now, because Hawke was fighting against the restraint, trying to get to Sebastian’s side. Then he went to stand toe to toe with his father, still pinned to the wall with an arrow. Sebastian pulled it from the crumbling masonry and put it back in his quiver as he began to speak.

“I’ve put up with your demands for too long. You had so many expectations for a man that was barely a leader and certainly not at all a father to me.”

“You’ve gone mad,” Prince Vael sputtered, but Sebastian spoke over him.

“I have not, but I have been held against my will tonight by you and your guards. You had no intention of letting me leave this afternoon, and I’m tired of your games. I am leaving with Hawke, whom I love and intend to marry,” he said, pointing a thumb over his shoulder at the door. Prince Vael seemed to see her for the first time, blue eyes bugging out of his head at the sight of her. Hawke had stopped struggling against Aveline when she saw that Sebastian wasn’t actually going to commit patricide.

“Hello!” Hawke said cheerily, waving over Aveline’s pauldron. Aveline rolled her eyes at Hawke, but said nothing.

“Lord Graves will be relieved to know that Alex is coming with us. Whatever life they want to lead, we’re going to help. Now I’m leaving, before this gets any worse. Do me a favor and never darken my doorstep again if you want to walk away from the encounter.”

“You’re a Vael,” his father hissed, the words like the sizzle of fat in fire. “You’re under my rule.”

“No,” Sebastian said, and turned away. “I will never be under your rule again.”

“Have a nice night,” Hawke called cheekily to the room at large, and then took Sebastian’s arm and quit the scene with Aveline trailing behind them.


	14. Chapter 14

Relief did funny things to a person. It was relief that made Hawke and Sebastian fall on each other like they hadn’t seen each other in weeks, not hours. They landed in her bed and didn’t come out until he woke up in the middle of the night with his stomach singing a complaint about the lackluster dinner he’d endured and the amount of energy he’d expended afterward. They had a very late repast, and then found comfort in each other again. If they kept up like this, Hawke was going to be with child before she could plan her wedding, but she didn’t really mind the thought of that.

Hawke didn’t sleep well until she did, and woke up the next morning groggy with sleep making her limbs heavy and slow. She wanted to lay for hours in Sebastian’s warm embrace, and made efforts to start that endeavor before Orana cruelly brought a breakfast tray upstairs. The enticing scent of warm apple muffins and bacon roused Hawke and Sebastian from bed. Orana must have seen that they’d come down in the middle of the night for food, because there was enough on the tray that Hawke worried Orana might have needed to take breaks bringing it up the stairs. There was tea, coffee, fruit, toast, porridge and cheese in addition to the muffins and bacon. Even an excellent and abundant breakfast couldn’t push the worry from her mind, and Sebastian’s smile that morning was as troubled as her thoughts.

Not for the first time since she’d become Viscountess, she didn’t want to go to work. Her wants were immaterial when she thought on the business that had to get done, and one thing in particular. She suspected that there would be a lot of news and Bran’s disapproving frown to face, not to mention a mountain of paperwork from an equally disapproving Aveline, but there was really only one task that Hawke was concerned about.

Alex was shown in to see her not long after Hawke got in that morning, late, because she’d been moving so slowly. They didn’t look much different than they had the night before when Hawke had first seen them and Sebastian locked in the room together, but they were dressed in ill-fitting borrowed clothes. Sebastian had been of little help when Hawke asked about Alex, he’d not asked them any questions in return for the ones they’d asked him. Hawke was working blind, but she put on her best Viscountess face and went forward. Alex was giving her a wary look that Hawke supposed she deserved for this early summons.

Hawke had little patience this morning, but what she did have she would give to Alex. They weren’t to blame in this scenario, and though Sebastian had told Hawke that he’d figured out how to escape when Hawke had arrived, he had no idea what Alex wanted, or if they’d even have gone with him in his escape attempt. Isabela might have learned more last night, but she wouldn’t be awake yet to make a report to Hawke.

“Have a seat, Alex,” Hawke said, giving Alex a tired smile. “I’m afraid we have a weighty topic to discuss and no easy way to get around it.”

The look Alex gave her was as dark as the heart of a tax collector. They sat in the visitor’s chair, but didn’t even offer up a pleasantry before declaring, “I’m not going back to my father.”

“I would never expect you to, nor will I force you to do so. It was clearly unsafe for you there.”

If anything Alex was made more cautious by Hawke’s declaration. “Then what do you want?”

“I thought you might need a job,” Hawke said, and then stood to stretch. Alex’s wary eyes followed her movement, as if they expected Hawke to grab them and hold them down. Sadly, this was probably the way that Graves had enacted his will more than once. Bullies loved to use brute force against those they thought they could physically dominate. “There are a number of positions here at the Keep if you’re interested in politics at all.”

Something told Hawke not to continue to make eye contact with them, but to let Alex ponder this in their own time. Hawke went to the window that was behind her desk, the one where the minstrels had played under when Sebastian had set them to serenading her. If he had some inclination, she might let him hire them again. It would make a lovely anniversary present, and Hawke shivered to herself as she thought about the prospect of celebrating years with Sebastian. It brought a private smile to her lips that she made sure to banish before she turned back to Alex.

“Would a magistrate accept me as a clerk or some sort of help?” Alex finally asked Hawke. Their voice was quiet, and Hawke sensed that there was more behind the question than she was hearing.

“I don’t see why not. You can be trained and if the courts are as backed up as they say, then I would imagine that intelligent and hard-working people would be welcome.”

Bran had given her a short list this morning of Viscounty jobs that could use filling, but it had been verbal and Hawke scanned her memory to recall if there were any magistrates on it. Her fatigue had her in a fog, and Hawke couldn’t rightly remember, so she went to check before she made her promises to Alex. Bran frowned at her, but told her to send Alex in for details that he apparently wouldn’t trust Hawke to repeat correctly that morning. When Hawke came back into her office, she assured Alex that Bran would find a place for them in the Viscounty.

“You know,” Alex said standing up, “I thought you might send me back to my father.”

“No. I wouldn’t even if the courts ordered me to do so, because you are an adult. You don’t need anyone’s permission, not even his, though you will need to become a citizen of Kirkwall to advance in any position with the Viscounty.” Hawke grinned at them. “I had to take that test too.”

“Last night, with Prince Sebastian,” Alex started, and then hesitated. Hawke waited. “He said you really were a hero, and I didn’t really believe him since he is very in love with you. I mean, I appreciate the rescue and all, but I didn’t really believe him until I had a chance to stop shaking. You didn’t have to save me too, you know, but your friends took me to their bar and got me a room. They stayed with me because I thought my father might come find me and drag me away.” Hawke nodded encouragingly and Alex went on, voice stronger. She was glad Isabela and Merrill had been there, she’d asked them to take care of Alex on the way out. Alex hadn’t wanted to go back to the Amell Estate with her and Sebastian.

“You all don’t even know me, but when I went to see how much I had to pay this morning they said the Viscountess had already taken care of my bill for the week. I don’t how this compares to beating back a wave of qunari or the Knight-Commander, but you, this means a lot to me. Thank you for this chance.” Alex looked right at her this time, and Hawke felt her first real smile since she’d said goodbye to Sebastian that morning spread across her face.

“I know that you’ll pay me back by becoming an excellent addition to the staff. Welcome to Kirkwall, Alex. Please ask the seneschal to advance you on your wages if you need to purchase more clothes or food.”

When Alex left, Hawke sat back in her chair and hummed to herself. The happiness of one person didn’t mean she wouldn’t have hell to pay for what had happened the night before with the Prince of Starkhaven, but it still felt like a victory to her. There was a little dread gnawing at this victory because no matter the fact that she’d been part of the scene last night, she knew the price to pay would land squarely on Sebastian’s shoulders.

She’d have to be a good wife, and help him endure it when the time came. That’s all she could plan for right now.

#

Three evenings later, Sebastian was hosting his own engagement party, with Hawke at his side. His father hadn’t contacted him or Hawke before slinking back to Starkhaven, and he supposed that tacit peace was the best he could hope for in this circumstance. Lord Graves hadn’t come looking for Alex either, though so far as Sebastian could tell, he was still in Kirkwall. Perhaps he was trying to find his child but more likely he was trying to arrange passage home after being stranded here by the abrupt departure of the Prince of Starkhaven.

He was standing in the fading sun after a particularly fine warm day, talking to Fenris. Over his shoulder, Sebastian smiled in the direction of Hawke, was engrossed in conversation with her sister. Bethany had been overjoyed at the news, and tonight, Hawke was radiant. All of their friends were here, standing in the courtyard with them. Fenris looked more at ease than Sebastian had ever seen him, standing near Hawke’s trees, the ones she’d planted when she got this house. The ones she would plant more of with him. The apple trees were starting to show their small fruit, and Fenris tapped an apple with a curious finger. Sebastian turned his grin on him.

“They aren’t nearly ripe yet,” he said, and Fenris nodded.

“I thought they looked a little small.”

“Give them time.”

“Is this everything you wanted?” Fenris asked, a small wave of his hand indicating the party as a whole. He knew what Fenris meant, and Sebastian nodded, thinking of the conversation they’d had so many weeks ago when Hawke hadn’t believed that Sebastian loved her. He’d been so forlorn and lost then, and now his happiness seemed to know no bounds.

“More than I deserve I think, but I won’t complain about my luck. Hawke is happy, and so am I.”

“I find that it’s a strange liberation to plan for the future free from the restrictions that others have placed on us, but I like being able to choose,” Fenris said.

“Don’t we all? I never knew how many choices I didn’t make for myself,” Sebastian mused. He’d had many thoughts on this, about how foolishly he’d let himself be bound to a life that he didn’t want just because his family told him to do so. He was about to say more when the doors to the courtyard opened with a bang, and Lord Graves strode into the inner sanctum of Hawke’s house.

“We have trouble,” Sebastian murmured to Fenris, who was about the only person there besides Aveline and Donnic that was armed and armored. All of them had come from the Keep with Hawke that evening to celebrate.

Sebastian stepped forward, and Graves spun on him glaring daggers. He did not, Sebastian thought to himself, have the look of a man that was desperate and aggrieved. He looked too neat, too well put together for this to be anything more than theatre on his part. Graves was here for satisfaction, he decided, but in what form Sebastian did not know.

“You have stolen my daughter, serah,” he shouted, pointing at Sebastian as he did. It was very theatrical, with just enough gravitas in his voice to suggest that he might be a problem, though Sebastian was sure he wasn’t nearly as dangerous as Graves pretended to be. He advanced further into the courtyard, into the party and Sebastian put a hand up to stop Hawke from coming forward. He could see Bethany with her staff out next to her sister, and Aveline’s hand upon her sword hilt, ready to draw her weapon.

“I have stolen nothing,” Sebastian answered, and though he hated to play Graves game, he made sure he was heard by everyone. “And what was done to Alex and I was not only unlawful, but unworthy. Would you have me recount the tale to my guests?”

Graves hesitated, thrown off by Sebastian’s eagerness to air the secrets of their last encounter. Graves only had knowledge of Prince Vael, not of Sebastian and probably assumed them to be similar in disposition. His father covered up his secrets when he could, but Sebastian had no such luxury in life. He had to face all of his. Graves rallied, his poorly shaven face flushed as he did. “I’ve only come to restore Lady Alexandra to my house.”

This all would have been easier if Alex was here, but they were still working. The training for their new position was intense and they’d taken to studying the law in their off hours, as well as working late to acquaint themself with the ins and outs of the magistrate’s court. Alex might come to the party, but Sebastian doubted it, they wanted independence for themselves, even from their rescuers and benefactors.

It was a beautiful thing to make ones own way in the world.

“Alex is not here and you knew you would not find them here,” Sebastian said. “Tell me what you truly want or your leaving will be far less pleasant for you than for us.”

Now the swords were unsheathed in a clanging flash of metal, the sound scything through the tense air in the courtyard. Bethany’s spell was a shield and it burst forth from her, warding both her and her sister as it pulsed with her fierce magic. He felt the same press of air around him, and saw it enveloping Aveline as well. The sight of the arcane light was too much for Graves, who stumbled backwards and started yelling. Sebastian had hoped that it would cow him into leaving, but it did the opposite, galvanizing him into stupid action.

“You would threaten me with magic, you and your tyrant would-be wife! Thugs and mercenaries, the whole lot of you, running Kirkwall as if you have the right!”

“Sebastian,” Hawke said, and her tone was a warning to shut Graves up immediately.

“Calm yourselves, everyone,” he said, and he motioned to Bethany. The spell around him dropped, but not around Hawke and Bethany. “Lord Graves is just leaving, and we’re wishing him all a safe trip back to Starkhaven.”

“I will not go without my daughter,” Graves started, but Sebastian put a hand on his shoulder.

“You know why Alex left,” he muttered in a low voice, “Must you make me expose you here as well? Leave us alone and demand satisfaction from my father for your humiliation if you must, but leave Alex be.”

Graves shoulders slumped, and he half-turned to go. Relief filled Sebastian, and he took his hand from Graves’ shoulder, and started to see him out. They took a few steps towards the door when Graves turned to him again. Sebastian expected him to speak, but the twisted look on Graves face warned him too late.

He didn’t see the knife that stabbed him in the stomach, only felt the wound once it started bleeding. It was unnaturally cold, like the blade was coated in ice. It must have a rune in the hilt, like Hawke’s daggers or the armor she wore. The next stab felt like a punch in the side, because he’d started to move away after the first attack on him. There was no third stab, but not for lack trying. Sebastian twisted away, the wound on his side aching and the one in his stomach bleeding. The kick he was planning for Graves hand didn’t happen, because pain caught up to him, making him hold still as Graves was attacked from all sides.

He felt himself crumple to his knees, a hand pressed to his stomach. Sound started to slow around him as blood ran through his fingers. Sebastian saw Fenris take Lord Graves head from his shoulders after he threw some sort of bottled smoke at Aveline to keep her from approaching. He heard Hawke saying his name, and slowly, he turned towards her. It wasn’t a mortal wound, but it would be if he didn’t get healing.

“Bethany!” Hawke called as her sister ran over to them. Hawke put her hand over his and then gently pulled it away.

“Hawke,” Sebastian said, she looked at him, then back at her sister. Bethany was standing over him now, and he could feel the healing flowing into his wounds. The one on his side, shallower than the one in his stomach, healed first. The other would take more time, and more skill than Bethany possessed for it to truly heal. He could see the sweat beading on her brow as she called forth more mana, tried to put her strength into the healing, a skill at which she’d never progressed beyond the level of a novice. Hawke had once lamented that her family was full of fighters, not healers, and he knew Merrill’s magic was of the root and branch, not healing at all. He wouldn’t die, but this would not be pleasant either.

“Hawke,” he said again, and this time she leaned in towards him. “Try to save my suit, I look good in white,” he said, and then passed out.

They were married eight days later, by special license. It only took that long because Sebastian insisted on being able to stand up at his own wedding. If Hawke had her way, she would have married him when he was abed still, with the Chantry healer as their witness. They waited for him to heal sufficiently and married that morning the healer gave their permission for him to stand up in front of the Mother who’d come to check in on him. They were married surrounded by dawn skies and firelight, and then Hawke went off to work so he could go back to sleep and finish the arduous task of healing.

He had a honeymoon to go on, after all. Sebastian wanted to make sure he was fit enough to enjoy it.


	15. Chapter 15

Hawke wasn’t at all surprised when Bran greeted her with a stack of papers and nothing so much as a welcome back as the observation that she looked, ‘healthy’. She assumed to him that meant well fucked, which in this case she was, but it was none of his business. Instead she dove straight back into the work of running Kirkwall, which Bran had managed admirably in her absence. He wasn’t a terrible ruler but his lack of enthusiasm came out as a distinct brittleness that eased the longer she was back on the job. Bran would hardly admit it, but when they both went to their respective homes for dinner on her fourth night back, they were glad to have each other.

Luckily when she went home, she could admit to Sebastian how much she appreciated him. He’d given her a dream she hadn’t realized she harbored, a happy family life at long last. If only her mother was here to see it; Leandra would be proud. She imagined that she was anyway, though Hawke missed the conversation she could have been having with her mother.

“Sebastian,” she said, greeting her husband with a kiss. It went on longer than she’d expected, because she’d started to give him a chaste kiss on the cheek but Sebastian was having none of that. His kiss was long and thorough, making her lose herself in a torrent of heated sensation and the desire that he always stirred in her. This was hers. She could have his kiss every day from now until one of them walked at the Maker’s side, and it still wouldn’t be enough. Several lifetimes wouldn’t be enough.

Just as she was getting a little too sentimental for her own tastes, she pulled away. The dinner Orana was making for them was slowly warming the manse with the smell of roasting food and the mixed scents mingled enticingly in the air around them. Sebastian allowed her to step back but not out of reach, his arm still around her waist as she struggled to remember where her thoughts had been when he’d started kissing her like they had all the time in the world.

“Welcome home,” he said, voice a shade deeper than normal. She felt a delicious shiver ripple all the way down her spine as she smiled at him.

“I cannot even tell you how much I like coming home to you,” she said softly, but put her hand on his chest to stop him from drawing her into another kiss. “But I have the papers you wanted. They were drawn up before we left and they just need your signature. The magistrate’s office will file the immediately.”

“Good,” he said. After she separated his papers from the small mountain of work parchments in her bag, she started to head upstairs to change for dinner, but was beckoned back down by his call. “Love, they need your signature too.”

“Do they? I didn’t look when I was at the office.”

“It’s your name I’m taking. If I am to give up being a Vael, I guess they want to make sure I have some place to claim me,” Sebastian said, giving her a wry smile.

It had been decided after that last, disastrous fight with Lord Graves that it no longer served Sebastian to be a Vael. His father was right in one way, he would always have dominion over a Vael, but if Sebastian joined the house of Amell, there was no reason to worry about anything his wretched father could dream of. It was a complicated legal process, made worse by the fact they actually had to cooperate with the mercenary solicitors and defenders employed by the crown of Starkhaven, but it started simply enough with their marriage and his renunciation of his own name to take hers.

When he’d proposed the solution while he was recovering in bed, he’d given her a grin and asked her how she’d like to be married to Sebastian Hawke. Her hug had nearly dislodged his carefully healing wounds, but she couldn’t have been more pleased with the suggestion. With Carver gone, it wasn’t likely the Hawke name would live on, but if both she and Sebastian took the name their heirs could carry it as well. She was hoping they’d have plenty to give the legacy to, but one never knew how nature’s favor would fall in such decisions.

For the first time ever, they’d talked about Carver. He hadn’t know her when she first got to Kirkwall, didn’t know what her family had been like when they waited at the Gallows, frightened and grieving. It was Aveline that had been there then, her own grief wrapping around her like cotton wool as she drifted into her place within the Hawke family. There had been nights where they didn’t cry together, but she and Bethany and Aveline sat atop the roof of Gamlen’s foul little hovel and passed around cheap beers and shared memories until they had to sleep it off and get up for the next day of work. But during their honeymoon, in the dark she started to tell Sebastian about those times, about her childhood and parents and Carver’s jig.

Family had never meant security to him, it was nothing more than a name and a legacy he could never live up to. It had never been the warm hands that tucked him in at night or the comforting creak of a rocking chair on an old wood floor, or the smell of corn muffins baking over a low fire. Sebastian hadn’t known what she had, and his losses weren’t the same. What he’d lost was the hope that came from love. His parents hadn’t bothered to give their third and unwanted child the love he needed, and even as he sought it elsewhere and received it back in dubious measure, his heart grew heavy. The world had been bleak and full of machinations, the opposite of the kind of place that would support a man so clearly built to love. Sebastian reached out and grabbed her hand, lacing his calloused fingers through her own.

“We’ve already consented to forever together. You will always have your place at my side. What do names matter?” she asked lightly. It was a jest, a small one, but it made Sebastian give her that sunny smile that turned her into a puddle.

“In that case I might rid myself of my middle name as well and take on my grandfather’s. I feel that should be the only tribute to my life as a Vael.”

Hawke didn’t answer, but squeezed his hand in hers. The connection between the boy Sebastian had been and the man filled with regrets that had once been the prince of Starkhaven was too personal for him to explain in anything besides the broadest of strokes. He told her stories, like the ones she shared about her whole family, but only about his grandfather, and then they were the dim recollections of a boy not even fourteen and younger. Twenty years and more had passed since, and his memories were halting, covered in dust and had been carefully buried to preserve them.

“You should,” she said, and returned his smile. “Let us make it complete.”

“Let us make it complete,” he repeated and looked away. He nodded to himself and then said in a clearer voice, “Let us start how we mean to go on.”.

And though Hawke didn’t know what he meant by that, it gave her hope to hear it.

#

He’d been married all of a month when the callers started. First, it was a few people that hadn’t been quite friends, but not enemies either. They came to pay their respects and congratulations to the happy couple, but they showed up in the day time when only one half of the ‘happy couple’ was at home. Sebastian knew it was for a number of reasons, curiosity, the demands of politeness and the fact that he didn’t have a real position or trade to take up after his wife returned to work. The consort to the Viscount of Kirkwall usually busied themselves with minor political functions and good works. The nobles maintained their salons and stayed part of society, and the merchants made sure to keep their empires running. He had none of that to do with himself.

Plus, they wanted to know: had Prince Sebastian been the secret admirer of the Viscountess all along, or did he have a rival? Why had the songs stopped being penned and no more poems published? Every time someone was casually seated in their library, taking tea from Orana, he could see the naked interest etched into impatient lines in their posture. It was like a hunger in them, the wanting to know. Every question he got, he answered with an enigmatic smile and a shake of his head, which fueled the speculation more, not less, but he’d expected that.

Sebastian entertained the callers, keeping them all at a polite arms length whenever they inquired too closely about his future plans or anything at all really, preferring to keep their plans as secure as possible. He was good at smiling and deflecting, at turning the questions around so the person who’d asked wound up answering it themselves. He might have been able to do that forever with the nobles and the merchants, but then the Chantry showed up. They wanted him back, that much was clear, and if they couldn’t have him as a brother, they would find another way.

“Elthina knew you weren’t meant for vows,” Mother Padma said succinctly. That wasn’t the way he remembered it, but he let Padma go on. “She knew you had a good heart and loved the Maker, but the life of a scholar never would have suited you.”

“What did she think suited, Mother Padma?” he asked, casually taking up his teacup and holding it. He didn’t take a sip, not yet. Instead he watched her as he posed with the cup, pretending that he might take a drink. Padma’s dark eyes were shrewd as any traders while they analyzed his movements from across the table.

“I am not sure of what Elthina may have wanted for you,” Padma admitted, but rallied immediately by saying, “though I am sure that you have a part to play.”

“What do you think suits me?” he asked, surprised to find there was some genuine curiosity in his query.

“There are always ways to serve, especially for those that were once among our numbers and were called to other paths in life. Lord Sebastian,” she said and he noticed her hesitation at using his new title. He noted it but didn’t hold it against her.

The matter of him renouncing his birthright has a Vael had wound up being easier than he thought it would be. His parents offered little protest to the idea, save for some token tantrums that came up at the outset. The rest of the process went more smoothly, especially since he wasn’t asking for anything, just a renunciation and liberation from the titles of Starkhaven. He and his heirs were barred from the throne of Starkhaven. His mother had included a heartfelt letter with the documents that severed him from their family, telling him that she would always welcome him as a son, despite his name. That had been unexpected, but he wouldn’t turn any goodwill away.

It had only been days since his title had been declared, so he understood Padma’s slight confusion. He was Sebastian Hawke, Lord Amell now, and glad for it. A weight that had been settled upon him before birth was taken from him, and now he could breathe. Maker, it was a beautiful thing, just the sheer joy at only being the man he’d chosen to be was wonderful. He loved Hawke, loved being her husband. Now that he thought on it, that was probably part of the cause behind the flood of visitors recently, people so eager to see if he would respond to his new name. He found himself replying to both new and old alike, and no offense given to either, but he would start correcting people after a short time to get used to it. Since he himself wasn’t quite used to it yet, there was no harm in letting people take it in their own time.

“I hate to hurry this along,” said the new Lord Amell, but he looked pointedly at the grandfather clock that stood upright in the corner of the room, “and I have no wish to be rude, Mother Padma, but I do have another appointment and would like to give you an answer, if you’d only ask me a question.”

She flushed at that and gave him a smile, though it was small. The impertinence he’d shown was something he could have never done as a brother, but he was married to the Viscountess now, which meant he had leave to abandon convention. “My apologies,” Padma said and then took a hefty gulp of her own tea. Finally, he permitted himself a small sip of his own lukewarm tea. “I hadn’t meant to dither. We’d like you to advise us as we rebuild, my lord.”

“In what capacity?”

“In all of them. We need as much help as we can muster, even after the White Spire sent us more people. There is the need for someone with a deep understanding of our needs and mission to help us mend our broken parts. Kirkwall needs its Chantry whole, but we cannot make it so without an advocate, advisor and community champion,” she said, putting a gentle weight on the last word. It was a nice touch, if he were the type of man to feel intimidated by the achievements of his wife, he might have welcomed that bait, but were he that man, he probably wouldn’t have married Hawke.

“I see. I will consider your proposal, Mother. Our time now has come to an end and you’ve given me much to think on. When do you require a response?”

“Take your time. Discuss it with the Viscountess if it pleases you. You know how to get in touch with me,” she said and rose from her seat. She was no Elthina, full of troubles and secrets and volatility under her veneer, much like the city itself. Padma was warmer, less confident and more proactive. They were all traits he liked for a Grand Cleric, even if he wouldn’t say so aloud. To say that would be to give Padma his tacit approval and she didn’t have the job yet, despite her authority.

“Thank you, Mother Padma,” he said, rising as she left the room, and then sitting down to finish his tea when she’d gone. It was something to think on and discuss with Hawke, but Sebastian was already drafting the polite declination he’d pen in his head.

He and Hawke had a more realistic view of the future, and while a Chantry advisor could pay heartily in terms of favors and influence as well as actual cash, it wasn’t safe. Anyone could see the fragile state of the Chantry, the strange sadness that pervaded the world. Ferelden had a Blight, Kirkwall had started something that couldn’t be stopped between the Chantry and the mages and there were rumors from Orlais about a crisis on the imperial throne. Even more worrying news was coming from Tevinter, though it was as ever, sketchy at best. None of this was good for the future, and he would have a well-placed target on his back should he go work for the Chantry.

No. He stood and stretched and wondered towards the kitchen. He would not join the Chantry. Not again, not ever. When he came into the sunken kitchen with its polished floors cool under his feet and seeping into his slippers, but the air warmed by the constant fire, he smiled.

“Hello, Lord Sebastian. You’re right on time,” Orana said, and then motioned towards the back door. The delivery of his sewing supplies had arrived, but the butcher was bringing his burden past the ones left in the receiving spot near the doorway. Orana was teaching him how to properly cook everything these days. The sewing he was learning on his own, and his new sister Bethany, was sending him all the books she could find of interest. Tomorrow he would go sit with Isabela’s ships surgeon and take another lesson from the man before her crew set sail again.

There was a new career in his mind, one that had nothing at all to do with power or money or influence, and one that worked more towards a goal of survival. He remembered the days after the Chantry explosion, and how helpless he’d felt, how little he was able to do besides bake bread and lust after Hawke. When he was called again, he wouldn’t be helpless for the first time in his life, he’d vowed to be useful as more than just a pair of hands. If he planted more than trees with Hawke in this world, he would see them grow.


	16. Epilogue

Varric came to see her on the longest morning of her life. It had started early and was filled with endless meetings, the kind that never felt like she was making any headway or even sense. Hawke was hungry and her head throbbed after her fourth meeting, and she had to rest her eyes for just a moment. In the last meeting her vision had started to blur as she looked over documents, not clearing when she looked up and blinked. She had to read them, but Maker, she needed more rest.

Her old friend strolled in without any announcement that she heard, settling himself in an armchair and waking her in his own gentle way, by telling a story.

“Stop me if you’ve heard this one. There’s a barbarian princess turned politician and a dissolute Chantry brother that meet in the best city on the coast. She’s a tall, good looking woman who has great taste in friends, and he’s a decent archer, if I do say so myself.”

“I’m only notable for my taste in friends?” she asked sleepily, roused at the first sound of his voice but intrigued enough to listen.

“Hawke, you know I think you’re beautiful but you have too much leg room for me. Your husband, well, he’s okay. Practically dwarven with that chest hair.”

Hawke raised a surprised eyebrow at him. “When messere, did you see my husband shirtless? Do I even want to know?”

“When he was busy fleecing me of my gold last time I went down to the Hanged Man. Luckily I was planning on donating it anyway, but his cheating was prolific and blatant,” Sebastian answered, coming into her office. He stopped by the side of her desk to drop a kiss on Hawke’s cheek. “I got your note, Varric. What’s going on?”

“Wait, there’s a point to this meeting?” she asked, and a sense of alarm prickled the back of her neck.

“Viscountess,” Varric said, and his grave tone alarmed her more than anything else had, “I’ve got some shitty news. The Seekers are looking for you.”

“Why should they look when I’m right here in Kirkwall?” she asked, uncomprehending. Sebastian obviously understood more than she had from that statement, because he blanched when Varric said it. She turned to her husband and asked, “What am I missing?”

“The Seekers of Truth never make mere social calls, love. They want you to go on some impossibly dangerous mission for the Chantry. That’s what they do.”

“I think it may be time for the two of you to take an extended vacation. Kirkwall will manage without you for a while, though I knew seneschal Bran will hate it,” Varric said.

“Wait, why are we hiding from these Seekers? I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“It’s not about what you’ve done, love,” Sebastian interjected, “but if they’re looking for you, it isn’t a good sign.”

“The word we’re stepping around is _‘Inquisition_ ’. The Chantry had one before and it wound up reshaping the whole world. Given what happened here,” Varric spread his hand imperiously, encompassing all of her city, “they might be looking to do it again. Since they’re seeking you specifically, I’m guessing they want to do more than get some friendly advice.”

Cold stole through her as realization dawned on just what their reality was. The Seekers could come to Kirkwall, Maker knows they had a lot to answer for her after the destruction that Meredith left in her wake, but they weren’t looking to shore up the templar order. No, they couldn’t come here. The panic she felt rising in her was reflected in Sebastian’s eyes when she met them, and they came to a silent agreement. They had to leave, even with as much work as she still had to do and as much as they didn’t want to, they had to go.

“Perhaps it’s a good thing the Ferelden house is ready for us,” Hawke said faintly, her voice not sounding like her own. “We need a place we can settle into.”

“You built a house in Ferelden?” Varric asked, looking surprised at the statement. “That’s unexpectedly sentimental of you, Hawke. Though I clearly remember you saying that you didn’t want to go back.”

“Times change,” Sebastian answered cagily. “But it is ready. When are they expected, Varric? Even a Seeker can’t move silently.”

“Soon is all I know,” he answered. Varric looked between them and picked up on the fear bouncing between the two of them, and ventured another question. “What’s going on?”

In answer, Hawke stood up. Then she turned sideways and pulled her day dress taunt across a belly that was already expanding from its usually slim shape. The healer said at this stage it was mostly her body shifting and retaining water, but she’d gained six pounds and it was all in her belly. She was starting to feel it now during the days, and she was sleepier and sweatier than ever, but so quietly happy that it shone out of her face even though she didn’t smile. Varric’s eyebrows shot up as he realized her wordless admission was about more than an overlarge luncheon meal. She was in month four already, and only Bran and Aveline had noticed a change in her.

“Oh shit. Congratulations you two,” Varric said, and gave her a grim smile. “Looks like I’ve got to arrange transport for the three of you to Ferelden. Hopefully not by boat unless you like losing your lunch, Hawke.”

“And Orana,” Sebastian said. “I won’t leave her behind to be questioned.”

“Of course,” Varric said, nodding. Hawke met his whiskey brown gaze and searched his eyes.

“Can you handle it if you stay behind?” she asked, and though everything in her hated to say those words, someone had to make sure she got away. Varric understood and nodded once more. His acceptance made her sag with relief, though it was short-lived before newfound anxiety pulled her taunt once more.

“I’ll make things ready with Bran. We have a contingency plan in place already, but I suppose it will have to be moved up in time now,” she said, weariness making her voice wobble.

Varric stood up and unexpectedly came around her desk to give Hawke a hug. It was tighter than she would have thought, but she sank into it, knowing that for all his gifts with oration there were times like these when Varric just wasn’t good with words. Sebastian met her eyes over the top of Varric’s head as they embraced and she saw the worry and hard determination in them. He was no longer the indolent Chantry brother she’d met, but the consort of the Viscountess of Kirkwall, ready to fight for his family. Sebastian Hawke had been her husband for the past few years and every one of them he had spent wishing he could be a father. Now that the chance was here, he wasn’t going to let her be dragged away by Seekers, not if he could draw breath. Hawke, for her part had no wish to see her husband work himself into a frenzy enough to try to fight Seekers, so she’d vanish. She’d done it before.

Besides it would be lovely to winter in the bannorn, so familiar from her childhood, but in a new place, a steading they’d built covertly on land nowhere near Lothering. They’d be stuck at the homestead for the next five months at least, until their little was born and then some time after that while she recovered. She would plan to be away for the next seven months, and Bran would just have to deal with it. Hopefully whatever brought the Seekers after her would have passed by then. It was more than half a year away, but in that time she’d become a mother.

With that thought, seven months didn’t seem like such a long time at all anymore. Hawke disengaged from Varric and went to get Bran. With any luck they could finish up what they needed to do today and be gone by tomorrow morning, with Varric arranging for someone come shut the house for them.

Lady Amell was running off to Ferelden again, once more with a bellyfull. Hawke smiled to herself as she went to fetch Bran, thinking about how not just Chantry history was about to repeat itself.


End file.
